


The Mirror of Eden

by GreenArcher



Category: Assassin's Creed, Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Unity, Crack Crossover, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Family, French Revolution, Long-Distance Relationship, Origin Story, Parenthood, Pieces of Eden, Post-Movie(s), Single Parents, Tags May Change, To Be Edited, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2842943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenArcher/pseuds/GreenArcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the spell breaks, the former Beast's castle is invaded by revolutionists seeking an artifact with unspeakable powers. When an assassin named Arno comes to the royal couple's rescue, the world as they know it will change forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers, and welcome to my new fanfiction: an experimental crossover between Disney's _Beauty and the Beast_ and Ubisoft's 2014 video game, _Assassin's Creed Unity._ I've wanted to write a crossover for these two (polar opposite) fandoms for years, but being busy with school and other writing projects, decided to leave it on the back burner until my schedule had settled down. I've tried my best to write this story so that Beauty and the Beast fans don't need to play the game to understand the plot, but if you are interested in learning more, I'd recommend doing some reading on Wikipedia, the Assassin's Creed Wikia page or even watching some of the (many) walkthroughs available on YouTube. 
> 
> To Assassin's Creed fans: While this story will mostly be told from the point of view of the Beauty and the Beast characters, you will see some characters from the game(s), though they won't be central to the story (just to avoid interference with canon events). It also will contain spoilers for AC:U and possibly the Dead Kings DLC when I get the chance to play it, so you have been warned!
> 
> Final note: Some of the references I make in this prologue might be confusing, but I promise that everything will be explained in greater depth later. This opening is really just to give a small taste of what's to come. So without further ado...

_La Forêt Noire  
_ _24 December, 1777_

The storm was getting worse. Louis-Henri Samuel D'Auvergnon, Prince of Auvergnon shivered as he pulled his fur cloak closer to himself, listening to the wind howl furiously against the walls of the royal carriage. He had intended to be in Pithiviers by tonight, but based on the abysmal state of this blizzard, he'd be lucky enough to arrive before sunrise. Still, it was best to keep moving. He could brave the cold as long as the item in the red drawstring bag beside him arrived at its destination.

For many weeks, Samuel had fretted over his decision to give the precursor artifact to his enemies. He knew there would be risks, but what was the alternative? The device's powers were dangerous, and after his last meeting with La Serre, he no longer trusted his associates to keep it safe. Once it was in the hands of the Brotherhood, he would sever all ties with the old Order and resume the responsibilities he had neglected for nearly ten years. As of now, his eleven-year-old son was back at the family château, celebrating Réveillon alone with the castle staff. Samuel loved his son, but his commitments to the Order made it impossible to spend time with him. But not this time. This time, things would be different.

Suddenly, the carriage jolted to a halt, causing Samuel to grab on to the walls of the carriage to stop himself from falling out of his seat. What was going on? Had they run over a log, perhaps?

A minute passed, and the coach remained motionless. The Prince's brows creased with worry. It was not like his driver to keep him waiting. He opened the door, and a gust of icy wind slapped him in the face. He drew his scarf over his mouth, and bracing himself, plunged feet first into the deep snow.

"Eric?" he called to the front of the coach. "Eric, is everything all right?"

There was no answer from his driver. Or if there was, it was overpowered by the sound of howling wind and rustling branches. Using the light from the carriage lanterns to guide him, Samuel trudged to the coachman's seat, ducking under the low branches of a tree to see what had occurred.

What he discovered made him clap his hand over his mouth in horror. Eric was lying face down on the ground, unmoving, a pool of blood soaking the snow under his head. He was dead.

 _"Bon sang_ , _"_ the Prince cursed. He reached for his sword, but a second too late. From the darkness, someone grabbed his shoulder and threw him face down into the snow, sending his blade flying from his hand. Terrified, he rolled on to his side to find himself surrounded by a dozen ruffians wielding axes and swords. All except for one man, who was dressed in a black cloak.

 _"Bonsoir,_ your majesty," the man said in an unusually calm voice for the circumstances. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your promenade through the woods, but it seems that you have something I need."

All the colour drained from Samuel's face as he sat up from the snow. _Diable._ This wasn't just an ambush. These men were after the treasure! "Who – who are you?" he asked warily.

The hooded figure lowered his hood to reveal a thin, middle-aged man with graying hair tied back in a ponytail. He would have looked quite unremarkable if not for the fact that one of his eyes was brown and the other was blue.

Unfortunately for Prince Samuel, he knew _exactly_ who this man was. "Germain?" His eyes widened in recognition. "But Monsieur de la Serre, he banished you!"

"Yet here I am," his former colleague replied, spreading his arms out unperturbedly. "My banishment from the Order was a minor setback in the greater scheme of things, you see. Already I have a small army at my command. Soon…though not as soon as I was hoping, Jacques de Molay will finally be avenged."

Samuel screwed his face up in determination, trying to look braver than he felt. It was a known fact that Germain was a fanatic of de Molay's work, which was why the Grand Master had banished him from the Order all those years ago. Based on what Samuel knew of him then, this conversation could only go from bad to worse. "La Serre and the others will stop you," he said boldly. "Once they hear wind of your treachery, they won't hesitate to hunt you down."

"That is, _if_ they hear wind of it," Germain corrected. "They certainly aren't here to save you now, are they?" Smiling, he picked the Prince's sword up from the snow. Whatever confidence was left in Samuel extinguished like a flame from a candle.

"Look, just t-take the artifact," he stuttered, cowering backwards in fear. "I want nothing to do with the Templars anymore. I just want to go home and – and be with my son!"

"I would gladly let you go, your majesty, only you have created a small snag in my schemes," Germain replied. He stepped behind the Prince and pressed his sword to his throat. "You tried to convince King Louis to reconsider his decision to declare the British colonies an independent nation. Why was that?"

Samuel coughed, the narrow space between the blade and his neck giving him little room to breathe. "Because to do so would be like signing a death sentence for France," he managed. "We've already lost so many of our resources to the British in the Seven Years' War. Now we'll be expected to ally with the Americans to fight the British, and we'll be in the same economic crisis as before, only worse! There'll be famine, riots in the streets, chaos!"

 _"Exactly_ what I want." Germain grinned wickedly. "This country is riddled with filthy aristocrats like you, who seize power only for your own sake. But once the nation falls into chaos, I will be there to shepherd the people to their proper place. But I can't do that if you're in the way, whispering in the king's ear, steering him on the wrong path, can I?"

"No," the Prince agreed nervously. "You're right. I won't meddle in the king's affairs again. I swear it."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Samuel," Germain warned. "The problem with men of your status is that you have too much power and are too close to the king. That is why you cannot be trusted."

Then, before the Prince could utter another word, Germain slashed his throat. Samuel fell to the ground, gasping for air. In a matter of seconds, he was gone.

Germain remained unmoved as he stepped away from the Prince's body. Samuel's death might have been barbaric, but it was a necessary evil in the grander scheme of things. Growth couldn't take place without destruction, and Germain couldn't afford to have anyone misguide the king if he wanted his plans to succeed. He discarded the Prince's sword and turned back to the carriage as his henchman, Mickaël dismounted the steps with a red velvet bag.

"Here it is, monsieur," he said, presenting the item to his master.

Germain accepted the gift with a nod. "Excellent work, Mickaël. Take nothing else except for the horses. We ride for the _Château de la Rose_ , next. We still have one more Prince to take care of tonight."

"The Prince's son?" Mickaël looked surprised. "But monsieur… he's just a child!"

"I'm not in the business of killing children, however spoiled and selfish this particular child may be," Germain replied. "But he will have influence over these lands one day and will pose a threat if he ever discovers our business here. Fortunately, I know of an easy way to dispose of him."

He looked at the bag with a calculating expression on his face.

* * *

By the time they reached the Prince's castle, Mickaël was certain he'd lost all sensation in his feet. The horses may have lessened the time it took to leave the woods, but they did nothing to suppress the cold, which only seemed to increase as the night continued.

Once they reached the front gates, Germain opened the Prince's velvet bag and removed a golden hand mirror engraved with several intricate glowing geometric shapes. The mirror was like nothing any of the men had seen before, and they all felt compelled to get a closer look at it before Germain tucked it away and gave them their orders.

"Wait here. I won't be long."

Once he passed through the castle gates, Germain pulled the mirror out from his cloak again. He closed his eyes and in a flash of light, his appearance changed from a middle-aged silversmith to a disfigured beggar woman holding a rose.

Of course, physically, he was still the same François-Thomas Germain. Juno had merely designed the mirror so that it projected _the illusion_ of an old woman to any human who was weak-minded enough to see it. And the best part was, once the mirror's powers were activated, all it needed was the emotions of those around it to sustain itself. Feelings like despair, anger, hatred and hopelessness would strengthen the illusions, while love could deactivate the mirror and stop them entirely. Germain couldn't ask for a better diversion if it fell straight into his hands.

Satisfied with his disguise, Germain crossed the bridge and knocked on the castle door. A nervous-looking servant soon answered him.

"What can I do for you, m-madame?"

"I would like to speak to the master of your castle, if you please," Germain replied in the old woman's decrepit voice.

The servant surveyed Germain apprehensively, nodded, then closed the doors. Less than a minute later, a young boy pushed them open again. He resembled Prince Samuel in every way, except that he had dishevelled red hair and an ugly expression on his face. Upon seeing Germain, he scowled at him as though he were the most hideous creature in the universe.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"Please," Germain said pitifully as he held up the rose the mirror had conjured. "Take this rose in exchange for shelter from the bitter cold."

The Prince sneered at Germain's gift. "I don't need a rose! Go away, you wretched old hag."

"Do not be deceived by my haggard appearance, young prince, for beauty is found within," warned Germain.

"Did you hear what I said?" the boy repeated. "Be gone, hag! I have no place for filth like you in my castle."

As he spat out these words, Germain felt the mirror pulse beneath his cloak. Just as he predicted, the artifact was responding to the boy's callous emotions. Everything was going according to plan.

* * *

"Mickaël! Mickaël! Take a look at this!" Germain's henchman was roused from his nap as his colleague, Laurent gestured towards the castle. Something strange was happening to the towers. Before, they were as white as the surrounding snow, but now shadows were growing around them, turning the walls blacker than the night itself. The thugs continued to watch, dumbstruck as the darkness descended from the castle to the viaduct, changing the angel statues into gargoyles bearing spears and tridents. Laurent pinched himself repeatedly, wondering if he was dreaming, but the hellish appearance of the castle stayed the same. All the men could do was stand and wait, hoping that that Monsieur Germain would soon return.

Ten minutes later, he did.

"What did you do, monsieur?" Mickaël asked his master anxiously.

"Given us some leverage," Germain replied. He didn't mention that he'd left the mirror back with the Prince. "The villagers who live in these parts are uneducated and cling heavily to legend and superstition. Once they see the horrors that lie in that castle, they won't dare to come within a mile of this place. It gives us ample opportunity to carry out our work, undetected. Now, let us return."

Too scared to disagree, the men followed Germain back into the woods. Meanwhile, from inside the castle, the Prince, who now believed he was a Beast, let out a roar of agony as he gazed at himself in the enchanted mirror. Little did he know that in his despair, he had sealed his fate for the next ten years.


	2. Bring Him Home

_29 April, 1792 (Fifteen Years Later)_

It was just after eight o'clock and night had fallen over the _Château de la Rose._ Prince Adam, formerly known as "the Beast," emerged from his study with a torn newspaper clipping in his hand. Adam had never considered himself a reader, no thanks to the near-decade he'd lived as an animal, but after everything that had happened in the past three years, reading had now become a necessity.

France was changing, and not in a good way. In Paris, the Legislative Assembly, born from the oppressed working class, were fighting for justice. They demanded freedom from their king's oppressive laws and those who opposed them paid for it with their money, property; sometimes their lives. Given his own noble status, Adam knew it was only a matter of time before the citizens would pursue him, too. Looking at this week's paper, he had good reason to think that day was sooner than he thought. Now he needed to find his wife so he could tell her the news.

Five years. Had it really been that long since he and Belle had been married? It seemed like only yesterday she'd first confessed her love for him, freeing him from his decade-long curse. Since then, then his love for her had never faltered. She was still the same headstrong Belle who had traded her freedom for her father's. The same Belle who could spend hours engulfed in a storybook, who was adventurous, opinionated, inquisitive and stubborn to a fault. The townsfolk in her old village may have called her "odd" for having these qualities once, but Adam wouldn't change a thing about her. She had saved his life, seen past his repulsive appearance, and for that, he loved her more than life itself.

As he approached the library, Adam noticed a light coming from behind the doors. He smiled. _Typical Belle._ She must have decided to read a book before she went to bed. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he announced, opening the door.

The moment he stepped inside, he forgot all about the paper in his hand. All he could see was that light. Dozens of golden rays scattered across the library, bearing floating images of Masonic eyes, Phrygian caps and other ancient symbols he could not recognize. The more he looked at them, the more a terrible sense of fear and helplessness began to grip at him, a feeling he'd felt countless nights as the Beast...

"Belle?!" he repeated, his voice barely audible against the ringing building in his ears.

Belle looked up from her book with a start. "Oh!" Quickly, she threw her handkerchief over the golden mirror on the desk, extinguishing both its light and the symbols. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't hear you come in."

Adam said nothing, too overwhelmed by the images he'd seen to speak. He leaned against a nearby armchair and breathed in and out rapidly, like a man who had just suffered from a bad panic spell. He couldn't believe it. Five years had passed since they'd discovered the magic mirror – or what was left of it, lying in the West Wing. Five years had passed since Belle had touched the glass, conjuring a vision to Adam that felt so _real,_ it had haunted him for weeks. Belle had combed every book in the library on mirrors, symbols, enchantments and illusions, trying to find an explanation for the mirror's mysterious power surge, but all in vain. It was with great reluctance that she finally agreed to let her husband lock it away in a vault, leaving her findings inconclusive.

But here she was tampering with it again as though it were a children's toy! It made him furious.

Catching his breath, he forced himself to stand up straight and glared at her. "What were you doing with that?" he demanded.

Belle rose from her desk, face flushing red. "I was just—"

"I thought we decided to put that away!" he shouted. "Your father said it himself. Whatever that… that _thing_ is, it's dangerous! Just lock it up and leave it alone!"

"I only wanted to examine it, that's all. I didn't mean any harm."

"Belle—"

"Look, I _know_ what you're going to tell me," she interjected. "You're going to say I should give up on my research because it's a lost cause. And I _know_ we've already combed every inch of this library, looking for answers, but Adam, I _can't just_ give up! I need to understand. Why would the enchantress show up on your doorstep, curse you, then leave _this_ mirror behind? It doesn't make sense to me. Yes, Papa said that the mirror isn't for our understanding, but that doesn't mean it's dangerous."

"Belle." He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to put a lid on his growing temper. "It's not just about finding out what this… _thing_ is. It's about the memories it holds for me. I don't know what the enchantress's intent was when she cursed me. Maybe she wanted me to be miserable for the rest of my life. Or maybe she intended for me to become a better person. I don't know and I don't care to find out anymore. I just want to put all those things behind me and think about the life I live _now,_ not the life I had _then_. If I'd never been a beast, I would have never met you. That's all I want to remember at this point. Nothing else."

Belle sighed. She wanted to debate the issue, but she knew he was right. Her husband may have come a long way from the self-centered beast he once was, but there were many parts of his past he couldn't let go of just yet. She had no right to open those old wounds again. "I understand," she said softly. "I'm sorry. It was selfish of me to pry into your past without considering how you feel about it first. I'll put it away. I won't look at it again."

"Promise me?"

"I promise." She nodded. "It will never leave its vault after tonight. Now, was there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

He held up the newspaper in his hand. "Read this," he said, passing it to her.

Belle looked at the page and saw a caricature of a man lying inside a tall, wooden frame with his head underneath a huge razor blade. Next to the illustration, she read:

 _Highwayman Nicolas J Pelletier's execution by guillotine had a tremendous turn out last Wednesday outside the_ Hôtel de Ville. _Invented by surgeon Antoine Louison to appeal to the Assembly's new capital punishment laws, Madame Guillotine promises a swift and clean decapitation of her victims without the hassles of her predecessors. Despite Paris's less-than-pleased reception, many of the city's finest criminals are already scheduled for an appointment with her shining blade._

"Oh, Adam, that's horrible!" Belle exclaimed, turning back to her husband.

"I know." His face was sombre. "Belle, I've respected your wishes to stay here, even after the storming on Versailles and the Bastille. But we need to accept that things have gone far enough already. If we don't act soon, that might be _our names_ in the paper next."

Belle frowned. "And I suppose that trying to reason with the people isn't an option at this point?"

"We could try. But it won't do any good if the king doesn't take a stand on these issues, too," he replied. "All these uprisings started because he didn't care to discuss any of the people's concerns at the General Estates meeting three years ago. Now the people want to build their own government, one that doesn't need a king, or any other nobility. Including us."

"And once the fire starts, nothing can stop it," Belle concluded sadly.

"Exactly."

"So then, what do _you_ think we should do?"

"I'm not sure. But Cogsworth mentioned last week that his sister owns a boarding house in London. She could house us for a while, just until it's safe to be in public again."

"All the way in London?" Belle didn't look pleased with this idea.

"Yes. The living space won't be as big as what we're used to here, but we'll be safe and…comfortable. Mostly." Adam _wanted_ to believe that London was a sensible plan. But after spending ten years as a prisoner, having to hide himself like a fugitive didn't bode well with him either.

"And what about the servants?" Belle continued. "Lumière, Mrs. Potts... ?"

"I think it would be best to start laying off the staff a bit at a time," he replied. "At this point, it's not safe for them associate with nobility like us."

Unable to think of any more questions, Belle sank into the armchair across from her husband and pressed her hands to her face. This was a lot to absorb. It was one thing to see her homeland tear itself to pieces because of the revolution. But to lose the castle and the servants she'd come to think of as family? "I don't know about this, Adam," she said, looking back up at him. "I mean, going to another country, _waiting_ for France to fix itself, not knowing how it's going to happen or when? Not to mention we'd _both_ have to brush up on our English. And what about—?"

"Maman? Papa?"

Belle and Adam turned to the front of the library with a start. A small three-year-old boy had appeared in the threshold, barely high enough to reach the door handle beside him. He wore a plain white dressing gown and had short brown hair and striking hazel eyes.

"Julien?" Belle said, standing up and running to their son. "What are you still doing up, _petit?_ It's past your bedtime."

"Scared," Julien mumbled.

"Scared of what, _mon bichon?"_

"M-monsters."

"Monsters again, Julien?" said Adam, appearing behind his wife. "You're _really_ sure they're in there this time?"

Julien moved his head up and down furiously. "Can you come? Pleeease?"

* * *

"Well Julien, we've looked everywhere in your room," Adam said fifteen minutes later. "Under your bed, the chair, the desk, the cabinet. But _no_ monsters. I think this was all in your imagination."

"No no," Julien insisted, shaking his head as his mother tucked him into bed. "It was really dere! I _sawed_ it!"

"Just try to close your eyes and get some sleep," Belle told him. "It will be morning before you know it."

"Can you tell me a story?" he pleaded.

"All right, Julien. What would you like to hear?"

"Not you, Maman!" he protested. "You _always_ tell me stories! I want one from Papa!"

"What do we say first, Julien?"

"Pleeease!"

Adam sat on the bed next to his son. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, then settled on telling him the story of _Tom Thumb_ from a book Belle had read to him as a beast. Julien listened with rapt attention as his father recounted little Tom's adventures growing up, and how he'd stumbled upon the castle of a king and queen who, amused by his small size, appointed him to be their private jester. They soon grew tired of his performances however, and agreed to return him to his parents, with the condition that he would come back to the castle once a year to put on a performance for them.

By the time Adam had finished the story, Julien was fast asleep, his hand balled under his cheek and a content expression on his face.

"Does it bother you to hear him talk about those monsters?" Belle whispered as they left his room. "Considering what you used to look like?"

Adam shrugged. "He's only three. Of course his imagination will get away from him sometimes. At least he knows he can come to us whenever something is scaring him. I know it was never like that with my father. He was never around, and when _he_ was, he barely gave me the time of day."

"Well I never met your father," Belle said, touching his arm, "but I know for a fact that you're doing a _great_ job with Julien. Just look at the way his face lights up and he runs to you every time you enter a room. To him, you don't have a single bad bone in your body."

"I just hope I'm doing enough for him," Adam confessed. "I was a spoiled and selfish prince once. I know nothing can ever excuse my behaviour then. Now we're living in a country of arrogant fools who care more about throwing lavish garden parties than helping the starving in the streets. I don't want Julien to be exposed to that world, any more than I want him to become a beast like I was."

"You know that you can't protect him from everything," Belle replied. "Julien will see bad things wherever we take him. The world isn't perfect, as much as we'd like to believe it is."

"I know. But the best thing we can do is move him away from the worst of it. Will you please consider my proposal, Belle?"

She turned to him, her lips pursed. "All right."

Smiling, the Prince squeezed her hand and the two of them returned to the library. France was in a dark time, and would likely be that way for a while. But Adam knew his world would always be a little brighter with his wife and son by his side.


	3. Special Delivery

_Paris, France  
_ _21 May, 1792_

In a sanctuary hidden deep beneath the Sainte-Chapelle Cathedral, Hervé Quemar, master of the Assassin Order, stood bent over a series of scrolls laid out on a table. So intent was his study, he barely noticed as a young man entered the chamber, dressed in an ornate blue tailcoat and beak-shaped hood. Arno Dorian, former nobleman and Assassin of the Parisian Brotherhood had hastened to the sanctuary after receiving a message from his mentor earlier that morning. He gently cleared his throat to announce his arrival.

"Ah, Monsieur Dorian," the old man said, looking up from his documents.

"Master Quemar," the hooded man replied. He avoided meeting his mentor's eyes as he spoke, and Quemar didn't need to be a lawyer to guess why. Arno hadn't been in the Order's good books since he'd caused the deaths of two of their council members over a year ago. It was catastrophic enough to break _one_ tenant of the creed, but to break it _twice_ within a day was an offence that could not go unheeded. Even now, Quemar and the rest of the council were still discussing a suitable way to punish their Assassin for his insolence. But that didn't mean they'd exempted him from completing smaller contracts for them in the meantime.

"I suppose you know why you are here," Quemar said, getting straight to point. "I have a mission for you."

"Then I am yours to command, mentor."

"We have recently received reports that a small village in Orléanais is planning an assault on the _Château de la Rose_ ," he began, pointing to a map on the board behind him. "Word is that they intend to capture the royal family who lives there and sell them to an extremist group in Paris."

Arno pondered this information for a moment. "Well, this is a revolution," he pointed out. "The royals aren't exactly safe anymore. What makes this attack so different from the others we've seen here in Paris?"

"What makes it 'different,' Arno is that the people aren't leading this attack," Quemar explained irritably. "A Templar named Claude D'Arque is. He runs an asylum in the area known as the _Maison des Lunes._ We suspect he has been raising propaganda about the Auvergnon family so he can recover something valuable from inside the castle."

"Something valuable?" That caught Arno's attention. "You mean… a _treasure_ of sorts?"

" _Oui,_ but not just any silver or gold," Quemar replied. "If our speculations are correct, the item D'Arque is looking for could jeopardize the lives of the nobility and working class alike if it is found. That is why I am requesting that you go to the village of Villeneuve, uncover D'Arque's secrets and end him before he can carry out his schemes. He must not be allowed to lay a finger on that artifact."

"Understood, mentor."

"Another thing, Arno."

"Yes?"

"If you can contact Prince Adam while you are there… " he paused. "I have some information for him only I feel it is best received in person. After you've completed your task, give this to him to read, and ask him to come back to Paris with you." He handed Arno an envelope. "I'm sure it will be enough to convince him."

Arno took the envelope and turned it over curiously. "It's been resealed," he noted.

"It was a letter delivered to the council many years ago," Quemar explained. "We intended to burn it, but Mirabeau had other ideas. In light of recent events, I believe the Prince deserves to read it."

Naturally, this statement made Arno even more curious than before. The Assassins had always been cautious about corresponding with the higher aristocracy, for fear that they would expose the secret nature of their work to the public. But if the council wanted this information to be kept between them and the Prince, Arno knew he had no right to pry. He tucked the letter into his pocket and nodded.

_I leave as an envoy and come back a deliveryman_ , he mused as he made his way down the stairs.

* * *

Though Arno wouldn't admit it aloud, he was looking forward to leaving Paris for a few days. The streets had reeked of death and burning wood for weeks, and with the city's recent food shortages, the riots had become more violent than ever before. Arno had tried to defend Paris's citizens where he could, but as his former mentor Bellec had once said, he couldn't save everyone. For every man or woman he rescued, it seemed the extremists only found another one to kill in their place. After all the senseless bloodshed he'd witness, a trip to the French countryside felt like a short, if not refreshing, retreat.

Once he'd left the sanctuary, Arno purchased some ammunition from a nearby vendor and returned to his room in the _Café Théâtre_ to prepare for his journey. After a quick meal, he met with an agent in the front courtyard who would take him to Pithiviers. From there, he would travel on horseback to Villeneuve to begin his investigation.

"Going somewhere, Arno?" a voice asked as he waited for his driver to finish loading the carriage. He turned to see fellow Assassin and manager of the café, Madame Gouze, standing outside the entranceway with a curious expression on her face.

"Ah, yes Madame," he replied. "I'll be out of town for a few days. Could you ask the intendant to put my letters in my room for me while I'm away?"

"Of course," the Madame nodded. "May I ask you where you are going?"

"The council has sent me to deal with a Templar in Villeneuve," he explained. "It's a little village just a few miles away from the _Château de la Rose."_

_"Le_ _Château de la Rose?"_ Mme Gouze looked surprised. "You mean that _haunted_ castle in Orléanais?

"Haunted?" Arno raised an eyebrow. "Where on earth did you hear that?"

"Well… I'm not sure if I should be repeating this," said the Madame, embarrassed, "but about a year before you joined our ranks, a man from Villeneuve came into our theatre muttering fancies of an _unusual_ sort. He claimed that back in his village, he and a team of townsmen had stormed the castle to kill a _terrifying_ Beast. Only when they arrived, they didn't find a Beast. They found an army of moving furniture that drove them straight out the front doors! The poor man must have been scarred for months."

Arno snorted. "Sounds like the delusions of an intoxicated madman. Are you sure he didn't have too much to drink that day?"

"The thought has crossed my mind," Mme Gouze agreed. "I wouldn't put his story too behind me, however. There's been a great deal of talk about that château since Prince Samuel's was found murdered in the nearby woods fifteen years ago. And right after they discovered his body, his son and servants vanished with no explanation. I'm not sure what Prince Adam's explanation is now that he has returned, but perhaps you will discover it for yourself while you're there."

"Perhaps," Arno agreed. "Provided I don't meet the wrong end of any… ferocious beasts along the way."

Mme Gouze chuckled. "Well, they don't call you a gifted Assassin for nothing. I'm sure you'll manage."

"The carriage is ready, Monsieur Dorian," the driver announced.

" _Bonne chance_ Arno," said Mme Gouze. "Have a safe journey."

" _Au revoir,_ Madame," Arno replied.

As he boarded the carriage, Arno shook his head in disbelief. He'd heard his share of nonsensical stories from rubbing shoulders with the different social classes in Paris. But Mme Gouze's had just beat them all.

* * *

Outside the city, Arno peered out the carriage window and watched Notre Dame de Paris grow smaller and smaller until it was a tiny prick on the horizon. From this distance, it was difficult to imagine that a crowd of revolutionists were tearing the city apart, fighting for food. He could almost imagine he was a little boy again, travelling to Africa with his father, or going on a countryside retreat with M. de la Serre and Élise.

Élise. It had been over a year since Arno had last seen his childhood friend, but he'd been thinking about her every day since they'd parted. They'd written to each other often, but her letters had become shorter lately, her mind preoccupied with bringing her father's killers to justice. Not that Arno was terribly worried. He'd always loved that fire about Élise. He wished that he could be that stronger.

_Could things ever go back to the way they were before?_ This was a question that had plagued the Assassin's mind as of late. Whether he was stopping a band of extremists from killing an innocent citizen, watching a man lose his head to the guillotine or uncovering another Templar responsible for the events of the revolution, he often wondered if this was _really_ worth it, if what he – _the Assassins_ – were fighting for would truly amount to something. Perhaps he was naïve, but he liked to think that it would. Because believing meant he could redeem himself of his failures. It meant that the world could better themselves from their mistakes. And it meant that there could be a future for him and Élise, not bound by their Assassin and Templar roots, but by their love.

But Arno knew there was much to do before then. Stopping this Templar from Villeneuve was one. With that in mind, he leaned back in his seat, opened his father's pocket watch and started counting down the hours until he reached Pithiviers.


	4. Double Strike

Arno arrived in Villeneuve the following evening, after a long day of travelling through the green pastures and rolling hills of the French countryside. It was abundantly clear he wasn't in Paris anymore, the moment he and his borrowed horse arrived in the little town. The entire village comprised of one cobbled street lined with crooked shops and houses, ending with a small chapel at the end of the road. It was quite a shoddy place, he thought, a town where a man would stop to water his horses, then leave without a second glance.

It was also very quiet. _Too_ quiet. This struck the Assassin with suspicion. Surely, if the locals were planning an attack on Prince Adam's castle, he'd hear some sort of commotion: a riot, posters, a public rally? But there wasn't a single person on the streets. Nor were there any protesters or debris to indicate that a fight had recently broken out. In fact, if not for the lights burning in the windows of the buildings he passed, Arno would question if anyone lived here at all. Had the men already started the attack, and he'd come too late?

He found the answer to his pondering a moment later. As the Assassin approached a fountain in the middle of the street, he heard muffled singing coming from the building next to him. He turned to see that he stood before a tavern which teemed with noise and activity. _Well, that's a relief,_ he thought. If the townsmen were all inside drinking, then obviously, they hadn't started the attack... yet.

After tethering his horse to a post beside the fountain, Arno crossed the road and opened the tavern door. The smell of beer and sweat hit his nose almost instantly. The drunken men's singing died down to a few voices and a few patrons looked up at him curiously from the dozen tables scattered across the room, but he paid them no mind. In a tiny town like this, he didn't doubt that he looked very out of place in his Assassin robes, but he only planned to be here for a few minutes at most. He was confident that most of the men would be too drunk to remember him. With that in mind, he approached the bartender at the back counter, who was in the middle of drying a large beer stein.

"Ah, _bienvenue monsieur!"_ he said, looking up at his new customer cheerfully. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you could help me, actually," Arno replied, not wanting to waste a moment on small talk. "I'm looking for a man named Claude D'Arque. Are you familiar with him?"

The change in the barman's expression was so abrupt; it was as though Arno had turned into a beast before his eyes. "No, I don't know no D'Arque, monsieur," he stammered. "Terribly sorry."

With that, he turned around and continued to scrub at the stein, as though he'd never spoken to Arno at all. The Assassin leaned against the counter and sighed. _It's never easy, is it?_ he thought. Only a year ago, he remembered how he'd chased an apothecary owner halfway across _Le Marais_ to find out who he'd sold a large dosage of aconite to. Based on the bartender's startled reaction, he'd have to work just as hard to get information on D'Arque's whereabouts.

Luckily, he didn't have far to look. As Arno stepped away from the counter, hoping to question one of the tavern patrons, he nearly collided into a huge man. And he _meant_ huge. He had impossibly wide shoulders and a great deal of muscle on his arms and chest. The tight red shirt he wore emphasized his enormity even more. Arno fancied that he was even bigger than the axe-wielding brutes he'd fought back in Paris, and those men were _massive_.

"Why, hello there, monsieur," the man said, smiling at him in welcome. "I don't believe I've seen you before."

"Just... stopping by," Arno replied awkwardly. Glancing up at the man's face, he guessed that he was somewhere in his mid to late twenties. He had black hair, piercing blue eyes – one of which was covered by a long scar – and a rugged complexion, as though he spent most of his time outdoors. His forward greeting slightly unnerved Arno, but then again, he wasn't exactly familiar with mannerisms in rural France. Perhaps the man was being friendly.

"You don't say?" the man said, looking at Arno in equal interest. "Well then, welcome! Roger!" He shouted to the barman. "Don't be rude! Prepare a drink for our guest, _s'il te plaît_ and put it on me. One of the tavern's _specials."_

"Y-yes Gaston," Roger stuttered. He reached for a clean beer stein from the shelf behind him, knocking down several cups in the process. He muttered a curse and bent down to pick them up.

"Sorry about him," Gaston said, turning his attention back to Arno. "I get that reaction a lot around here. I'm just that magnificent."

"You don't say," Arno replied dryly. It seemed this "Gaston" thought quite highly of himself. In a way, he reminded him of the Marquis de Sade – another man the Assassin knew to have a very flamboyant personality.

"So what brings you to Villeneuve?" Gaston continued casually. "Was it to see me?"

"I'm sorry. Who are you exactly?"

"Why, I'm Gaston Légume, of course!" Gaston replied, insulted. "The greatest hunter this side of Orléanais, and the owner of this fine establishment."

"Hmm," Arno mused. Not only did Gaston think highly of himself, it seemed he expected others to think highly of him, too. Maybe he could use this characteristic to his advantage. "You seem to have quite the reputation here," he told him. "Perhaps you could assist me."

"Of course. Anything."

"I'm looking for a man named Claude D'Arque who's said to live in these parts. Have you seen him? Recently?"

"Old Claude, the asylum keeper?" Gaston repeated. "Sorry kiddo, but I haven't seen him in weeks. He comes to the tavern occasionally, but mostly he spends his time in the asylum. It's quite a ways off from here."

"I see." Arno frowned. This wasn't exactly what he'd hoped to hear. It would be much easier to assassinate D'Arque in a crowded village than a fortified asylum in the middle of nowhere. Not impossible of course, just more difficult. "Could you give me directions?" he asked. "I… have a proposal to discuss with him."

"Of course I can!" Gaston assured him. "But first, a toast." He took Arno's beer from the bartender and raised it above his head. "To our guest everyone!"

"Our guest!" the patrons chorused.

Feeling a little sheepish, Arno took the stein from Gaston. Normally he would never drink while on a contract, but he thought it rude to refuse the hunter's hospitality considering he'd just agreed to help him. With that in mind, he put the stein to his lips and took a sip. The beer tasted strange, but he wasn't entirely surprised. As his adopted father had told him once, no beer ever tasted as good outside Paris or Versailles.

"While you're enjoying yourself, why don't I show you some of my trophies?" Gaston continued after Arno set down his cup. Before the Assassin could reply, Gaston put an arm over his shoulder and guided him to the wall on the left side of the bar. It was truly an eye-catching sight; covered from top to bottom with mounted heads of bears, foxes, birds, wild boars, and other antlered creatures Arno couldn't identify by name. And in the centre of the wall, mounted above the fireplace mantle was a painting of Gaston himself. Arno had to resist the urge to sneer. _What's next for the egocentric man? A life-sized statue in the town square?_

For the next several minutes, Gaston recounted in detail the story behind each of the animals that hung on his wall. The townsmen "oohed" and "awed" at his stories like spectators watching a play, but Arno could barely keep his eyes open. He suddenly felt very lightheaded, which made no sense. He'd only drank a little beer, and had no reason to feel so tipsy. And was it just him, or was the tavern suddenly becoming very warm?

"Of course, my greatest trophy of all was stolen from me," Gaston continued, too absorbed in his story to notice his guest's queasiness. "She would have made me the greatest man for miles."

"Well, you seem to have hunted an impressive amount of animals already," Arno replied. "That's no small accomplishment."

"She wasn't an animal, you fool!" Gaston snapped back at him. "She was the most beautiful woman in town. The girl I was going to marry before he came and ruined everything! But mark my words; I always get what I want. He'll pay for besting me, or my name isn't Gaston!"

Perhaps it was because of the growing fogginess in his brain, but Arno swore that Gaston had almost growled at the end of his last sentence. He blinked his eyes rapidly and looked back at his square-jawed face. "Look, you obviously have a lot on your mind. I… think I best be going now."

"Go?" Gaston sounded surprised. "But the fun's just started, monsieur! I don't think you're going anywhere."

If Arno said anything in response, he didn't remember. All he knew was that he felt very dizzy and he desperately needed to get out of the tavern. The sound of vicious laughter surrounded him as he trudged to the door. He tried to reach for the handle, but his arms were too heavy, his vision so distorted, he couldn't see where it was. His last coherent thought before hitting the floor was that the beer Gaston had given him wasn't just a beer. It was full of poison. A special poison that only a Templar would know how to acquire. D'Arque had been expecting him all along, and he'd been too stupid to realize it.

* * *

"Master! Master!"

Adam rolled underneath his blankets and groaned. "Five more minutes, Cogsworth," he muttered. Half a decade of living as a human, and he still couldn't understand how _anyone_ could get up this early in the morning. It was a skill Belle may have acquired from all the mornings she'd spent doing morning chores back at her village, but for the former Beast, who for years slept whenever he wanted, it escaped him completely.

"Master, please, I insist!" Cogsworth continued urgently. "I wouldn't come to you at this hour unless it was of utmost importance. Please, get up, now!"

"Go see what he wants, Adam," Belle muttered as she placed her hand on her husband's chest. "It's not right to keep him waiting."

Adam grumbled. Were it up to him, he'd bury his head under his pillow until the stuffy man went away, but his wife always had a way of making him change his mind. He grudgingly untangled himself from the blankets and pulled aside the curtains. The West Wing was in complete darkness, which only irritated him more. _Utmost importance, indeed._ What was Cogsworth thinking, waking him up at such an ungodly hour? He lit a candle on the bedside table and stormed to the front of the West Wing, not even bothering to slip on his housecoat as he opened the door.

"This better be good, Cogsworth. Now what is it?"

"Invaders, sire!" Cogsworth replied. He tottered anxiously on the spot as he spoke, like Julien did sometimes when he knew he was in trouble. "The guards saw them on the bridge. They're trying to get into the castle!"

"WHAT?!" Adam exclaimed.

All annoyance was forgotten as he ran back into the West Wing. He pulled back the curtains to the windows. Sure enough, at least fifty men were on the viaduct, half holding lit torches, the other half trying to force the front doors open with a large battering ram. All the colour drained from Adam's face. Since he'd made his first appearance in public five years ago, he always feared that someone would discover the truth about his curse and come for him... a second time. It seemed now that that fear was about to become a reality.

"Belle?!" he shouted.

There was a rustling of sheets and a loud "thump" nose as his wife climbed out of bed and joined him at the window. She looked outside and gasped. "Oh my goodness!"

"We have to leave. Now."

Belle didn't need telling twice. Within a minute, the two of them put on their housecoats and room slippers and joined Cogsworth in the hallway.

"Rouse as many of the servants as you can and take them to the cellars," Adam ordered his majordomo. "Let the guards fight the men back, and _only_ the guards. Do you understand?"

"Of course, sire," Cogsworth replied. "But what about you? If the invaders see you and Mistress Belle –"

"We'll cut through the passageway on the fourth floor and join you downstairs," Adam interrupted. "Focus only getting the servants to safety. That's an order, not a request!"

"As you wish, master," Cogsworth said, reluctantly. "But please, be careful!"

"We will. Now go!"

With that, the portly man scurried down the corridor, leaving Belle and Adam to reach the cellars on their own. Adam sincerely hoped Cogsworth would get downstairs in one piece. The last time a mob had invaded his castle, he'd been too heartbroken to care, leaving his staff to fend for themselves. He was determined to treat his servants with better dignity this time around.

"Come on, Belle," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder.

But Belle stayed glued to the spot. Her eyes were looking off into space, as though she'd been struck with a terrifying premonition.

"Belle?" Adam repeated. "What is it?"

"Julien," she replied slowly. "He's still in his room. He doesn't know."

It was as though someone had knocked all the wind from his chest. Julien, alone in his room. Julien at the mercy of those… horrible men, dragged into a conflict he was far too young to understand. _How could I forget my own son?_ Frantically, he turned back to his wife, wanting to assure her he'd find him, but she was already gone, running down the hallway, trying to reach his room before it was too late...

"No, Belle! STOP!" he shouted. It was one thing to know his son was in danger, but he couldn't put his wife's life on the line, too!

Desperately, he tried to catch up to her, but even with his long legs, she was several feet ahead of him. He followed her down a flight of stairs, then another, and just as he reached the floor leading to Julien's room he heard a terrible sound of metal scraping against metal. He turned the corner and came upon a gruesome sight. The entire fifth floor corridor was now a battlefield, littered with bodies of castle guards and invaders alike. The remaining intruders were fighting against Adam's guards in the centre of the hallway, some bearing swords, muskets and axes, others bearing weapons crudely designed from pitchforks and scythes. _These men must have come from the side entrance,_ Adam realized. Meaning, there were even more men here than he first anticipated.

Biting his lip, Adam glanced over the fighters, hoping to see where his wife had gone. To his immense relief, he saw the hem of her nightgown whip past a guard on the other side of the corridor, heading in the direction of Julien's room. _We're going to get out of here,_ he told himself as he hurried to catch up to her. _Everything's going to be fine..._

And that was when two men appeared in front of him, blocking his path.

"Well look what we have here, Stanley," the first one said with a haughty grin. He was a short, pudgy townsman with receding black hair and a scruffy, half-shaven beard. "A Prince out of bed, and he's all alone!"

The second man guffawed loudly in response. Contrary to the first man, this man was tall and scrawny, with long straw-like hair that nearly covered his eyes. Neither him nor his partner looked particularly threatening to Adam, but he was aware that both were holding swords, and he was not.

"Citizens, please!" he said, hoping to reason with them quickly so he could catch up to Belle. "It doesn't have to be like this. Lay down your weapons and we can discuss this conflict like civilized men."

"Ha! You have the nerve to suggest that _we're_ uncivilized?" Stanley replied accusingly. "You're the one who's been sitting around on your throne all day, raising taxes and taking things that don't belong to you. Well, Tom and I aren't taking it no more. Now it's time for payback!"

"No. Wait!"

But the men were already advancing on Adam. With no time to look where he was going, the Prince stepped backwards and tripped over the body of one of his guards. He landed hard on the carpet, and that was when he saw it: the shiny hilt of a sword, only an arm's length away from him.

Adam frantically looked back up at his attackers. Tom was standing above him now, laughing as he swung his sword towards his head. If the Prince didn't act now, he'd be dead meat. He hastily grabbed the discarded sword and blocked the pudgy man's attack just in time. The impact of the swords startled the assailant and caused him to fall off balance. This gave Adam just enough time to roll a safe distance away before Tom could strike again. He stood up, bending both his knees so that his centre of gravity was at his feet, and pointed his sword at the two men, threateningly.

"I won't say it again," he growled. "Put. Down. Your. Weapons."

"Never!" Stanley replied. He charged towards the Prince and swung his sword a little overzealously to the left, causing him to miss his target entirely. At the same time, Adam realized that Stanley's right shoulder was completely exposed. It was an easy mistake to make – one of the most common mistakes beginners made in fencing. Without thinking, he swung his sword straight into the man's shoulder.

"Yeooow!" Stanley screamed. He collapsed on the floor, dropping his weapon to the ground.

"Stanley!" Tom exclaimed. His concern for his friend had temporarily overpowered his desire to get to the Prince. "Are you all right?"

"No!" Stanley howled as he clutched at his injured shoulder. "He got me! That bastard struck me in the shoulder!"

_Did I really do that?_ Adam took an uneasy step back. Now that the men were no longer attacking him, the reality of what he'd done slowly dawned on him. He'd just hurt a man. And not just any man, one of his own citizens. _But I was only trying to defend myself to get to Belle,_ he reasoned. _I didn't mean…_

"You!" Tom shouted angrily, startling Adam from his thoughts. "You hurt my friend! I'm going to KILL you!"

But before Tom could strike the Prince, much less step forward, a guard jumped between the two and blocked his path. "Get out of here, your majesty!" he shouted as he held the townsman back with his sword. "Hurry!"

Feeling as though he'd woken from a dream, Adam ran past the guard, back to Julien's room. As he looked down at his sword, he realized that there was a trickle of blood on the edge where he'd struck Stanley in the shoulder. Horrified and disgusted, he dropped it on the floor.

Even with the evidence gone, Adam knew he would never be able to erase the memory of what he'd done. He'd now caused more physical injury on a person as a human than he'd ever had as a Beast.

Moments later, Adam arrived at the set of double doors that connected the West end of the castle to the North end. The moment he stepped through them, he knew that something was terribly wrong. Belle was kneeling on the carpet, her hands bound behind her back with rope. Behind her, two burly, musket-bearing men glared at the Prince, as though daring him to come closer. _But where's Julien?_ The idea of his son captured, or worse, _dead,_ suddenly swam into the Prince's mind, making him feel sick. If he lost his little boy to these invaders, he would never forgive himself.

"Belle?" he called out to his wife.

"Adam, look out!" she screamed.

But she was too late. Before Adam could turn around, someone shoved him in the back, sending him face first on to the carpet. A pair of rough hands found his wrists and began to bind them together with rope. Adam frantically tried to force himself to sit up, but another set of hands and knees pushed him down again until he could barely move. It was in that heart-wrenching moment, crushed between the carpet and his incarcerators, that Adam realized that he was trapped.

As soon as the Prince's captors finished securing his wrists, they forced him to his knees. Belle was still facing him, which comforted him slightly, but only for a moment. Suddenly, he heard the voice of a man beside him. A horrible man he hoped he and Belle would never have to face, ever again.

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here. Our little 'pretend' Beast."

Adam turned his head furiously to the side. A tall, muscular man with blue eyes and jet-black hair stood before him with an awful grin on his face. Gaston. Of course. Adam may have only met the man briefly five years ago, but he would never forget the face of a person who had nearly taken his life.

"Surprised to see me?" Gaston continued, addressing his two captives the way a wolf might address his prey. "No one survives a fall from a tower like Gaston! I even have this scar here to prove it." He pointed to the mark covering his right eye. "Now, tell me. Where is that magic mirror?"

Adam said nothing. He didn't give a damn what Gaston wanted with the mirror, how he knew he was the Beast, or how he'd managed to survive a two-hundred foot drop from the castle with only a scar as evidence. All he knew was that he wanted, more than anything, to be a beast again so he could break free of his ropes and tear the contemptible man to shreds. Gaston was responsible for this attack, he just knew it. He'd orchestrated these men to infiltrate his castle, terrorize his servants and his family, all to humiliate him and steal his mirror. _If only I hadn't spared him that night on the roof,_ he thought with rage. _If only I'd let him die, none of this would have happened!_

"I will never talk!" he shouted at Gaston. "Not to a man who tried to blackmail my wife into marrying him and stabbed me in the back when I spared your life! You have no honour, no dignity! You can tear this castle apart or burn it to the ground, but you will never find that mirror."

Gaston rolled his eyes. "Have it your way." If Adam wasn't so furious right now, he'd almost feel unnerved at exactly how _calm_ the man sounded. "It's a shame though, to have to lose such a pretty thing, don't you think? Patrice?"

One of the men guarding Belle yanked her hair back and pressed a dagger to her throat. Belle let out a sound between a cry and chortle as she felt the cold blade graze against her skin. She glanced back her husband and the terror and in her brown eyes was so vivid, it pained Adam just to look at her. In that moment, he realized how meaningless his refusal to Gaston was. For if Gaston hadn't hesitated to stab him in the back five years ago, he certainly wouldn't hesitate to kill Belle if he didn't agree to his wishes. Gaston had driven Adam straight into a corner and had no intention of letting him out easy.

"Wait," Adam said, lowering his head in defeat. "I'll - I'll tell you. It's behind a panel beside the fireplace in the third floor study. Hidden in a chest."

Gaston's feet shuffled against the carpet as he moved closer to the Prince. "What's in the chest, Beastie?"

"The mirror."

"The mirror?" he repeated. "Well why didn't you say so in the first place! And how do I open that panel?"

"There's a small statue – a bust of Diana on the bookshelf next to the fireplace," Adam murmured. "Twist the head to the left and it will unlock the door." _Please forgive me, Belle. I know how much that mirror meant to you._

Gaston pulled a pistol out from his belt and pointed it straight at Adam's temple. "Is he telling the truth, lovely?" he said to Belle, loudly.

Seeing her husband held at gunpoint, Belle widened her eyes and nodded vigorously. Or as vigorously as she could while she still had a knife pressed to her throat.

Gaston smiled in smug satisfaction. He lowered his pistol and motioned for Patrice to lower the knife from Belle's neck. "Well folks, it looks like we have to cut this reunion short," he said, addressing everyone in the corridor. "Of course I would have loved to finish you off myself, Beastie," he gestured to Adam. "But a deal's a deal." He raised his pistol in the air. "Say goodbye to your husband, Belle. You won't be needing him anymore."

"NO!" Belle shrieked.

It was the last thing Adam heard before the barrel of Gaston's gun swung into the side of his head. An explosion of pain erupted in his skull. Then, everything went black.


	5. Coming Around

"Ughhh."

Arno slowly opened his eyes, feeling as though he'd been pulled from the depths of a deep and troubling sleep. A swirl of colours pervaded his vision, so overwhelming; he shut his eyelids again, fearing his head would split in two.

_Where am I? What happened?_

Through the throbbing pain and dizziness, the memories slowly returned. He'd travelled to Villeneuve under orders from the council to hunt down and assassinate the asylum keeper, Claude D'Arque. He'd stopped by the town's local tavern and met a man there who'd offered to give him directions to the _Maison des Lunes_ where D'Arque worked. This man had then given Arno a beer... only it wasn't _just_ a beer, it was a beer laced with poison. His jaw tightened as he remembered how easily he'd taken the hunter's bait, mistaking its strange taste for a bad brewing job. _Quel imbecile!_ How could he be astute enough to smell poison in Mirabeau's drink over a year ago but not his own drink when someone offered it to him? If Bellec were here now, the things he'd say: _"Never accept a drink from a stranger, pisspot. Especially one who hasn't shown his true colours."_

A minute passed. Arno forced his eyes open again, relieved to see that the effects of the poison were starting to wear off. He saw that he was in a dimly lit room at the back of the tavern, surrounded by several beer barrels and crates stacked as high as the ceiling. About ten feet away from him was a windowless, wooden door. He moved towards it, wanting to check if it was unlocked, but something yanked him back before he could stand. Looking down, he realized, rather disgruntledly, that his arms had been tied to a beam behind him with a long coil of rope. _Wonderful. Just wonderful._ He flicked his wrists, hoping his hidden blades could cut him loose, but hearing no clicking sound realized the Templars must have removed them. He wiggled his arms, intending to loosen the bindings himself, but the knots refused to budge. _Diable._ Truly the Templars had done everything to prepare for his "surprise visit." Now Arno really felt like an idiot.

But on the bright side, at least he was alive. Whatever poison the Templars had put in his drink, they'd obviously intended to subdue him, _not_ kill him. But what did they want from him? That remained to be seen. The Assassins would rather die than betray their Order. If the Templars expected to torture Arno into revealing the council's plans, they were woefully mistaken.

Suddenly, Arno heard muffled footsteps and a woman's voice coming behind the door in front him.

"They took away his weapons and tied him up, sis, how dangerous can he be?"

"I-I don't know," a second woman's voice replied anxiously. "I just don't like being in the tavern when all the men are out. What if they come back and see us?"

 _"No one_ will see us," the first voice said assuredly. "Besides, Claudia's out there! If she sees anything she'll come back and let us know. There's nothing to worry about! Now come on."

The Assassin shifted back nervously as the door unlocked and opened. Into the room stepped a busty, blonde woman in an amber dress and an identical-looking woman dressed in green. They both approached Arno, the woman in amber kneeling in front of him so they were staring at each other at eye level. "Are you the Assassin?" she asked him curiously.

"I am," Arno confirmed, eyeing the woman with suspicion. "And who are you?"

"I'm Marie-Laura, and this is my sister, Marie-Paule," she explained, gesturing to the woman behind her. "We're barmaids at Monsieur Gaston's tavern. We've come to help you."

"Monsieur Gaston said that an assassin was going to try and stop him from invading Prince Adam's castle," Marie-Paule added cheerfully. "If that dreamy, gorgeous hunk of a man's you, consider us on your side!"

"Paule!" Marie-Laura smacked her sister on the arm.

"What? I'm just being honest. He's _cute!"_

Her sister smirked despite herself. "Here," she said, pulling a knife out of her skirt and handing it to her sister. "Do us a favour and cut him loose."

Marie-Paule groaned, but reluctantly took the knife to do as Marie-Laura asked.

Realizing these women were here to help, Arno breathed a sigh of relief. True, his allies weren't exactly orthodox, but they were hard to come by in these troubling times. Most of France's citizens feared the Assassins and were more prone to flee from their presence than help their cause. "You two have quite the employer," he told them as Marie-Paule stepped behind him to cut his ropes. "Is it usually customary for him to poison newcomers and tie them up in the back of his tavern?"

"Even we never guessed he'd take it _this_ far," Marie-Paule answered truthfully. "Monsieur Gaston used to be our hero! He was brave, strong, charming..." She sighed wistfully. "But that all changed five years ago, after—"

"—after the Prince returned from his ten-year trip to the colonies and married Princess Belle," her sister finished.

Arno looked between the two girls, intrigued. "Sore that he wasn't invited to their wedding, was he?"

"Oh no, monsieur!" Marie-Laura clarified. "Gaston didn't want to attend their wedding. He wanted... the Princess."

"The _Princess?"_ Arno repeated. Of all the things that narcissistic hunter could want, he hadn't expected _that._ "That's... quite an ambitious prize for a hunter, isn't it?"

"Well believe it or not, Princess Belle wasn't always a Princess," Marie-Paule explained as she continued to cut away at Arno's ropes. "When she first moved to this village with her inventor father, she was just as 'common' as the rest of us. She was always wandering around the market with a nose stuck in a book while her father built inventions in their cottage. We thought they were both mad!"

"But not Gaston," Marie-Laura continued. "To him, Belle was 'the most beautiful girl in town.' He'd tell anyone who'd listen how he would marry her someday and throw a huge wedding outside her house. But every time he tried to get her alone, she always turned him down."

"Which is crazy because he's totally gorgeous!" her sister sighed.

"But if the Princess lived in your village with her father, how did the Prince come to know of her?" Arno asked. Surely Prince Adam had better things to do than strut around small towns picking potential marriage prospects off the street. Or did he?

"Beats us." Marie-Laura shrugged. "Belle's engagement to Prince Adam came right out of the blue! All we know is that the second time Gaston proposed to Belle, he discovered that she and her father had escaped imprisonment from a terrible beast at the _Château de la Rose._ Gaston thought the beast would come for our village next, so he and the townsmen went to the castle to kill it."

"He was so tough and brave," Marie-Paule said, batting her eyelids dreamily. "He knew _exactly_ what to do!"

"But something went wrong," Marie-Laura went on. "When the men returned to the village the next morning, they were bloody and bruised and Gaston was barely alive." She looked down sombrely. "None of them would say a word of what happened. Then, a day later, a messenger from the castle came and announced that Prince Adam had slain the beast and that Belle was to be married to him! We were in complete shock."

 _I can see why,_ Arno thought. The story of Princess Belle and Prince Adam's marriage sounded utterly absurd, like one of those fairy stories his governess used to read to him as a child. Perhaps Belle had simply used "the beast" as a cover for an affair she'd been having with the Prince under Gaston's nose. But, if that _were_ the case, why had the Prince bothered to marry Belle after? It wasn't like she had anything to offer him socially, especially if she was a commoner. Something wasn't adding up.

"Well, that certainly sounds like a bewitching tale," he told the girls, unsure of what else to say.

"We didn't know what to make of it either," Marie-Paule agreed. "But Gaston on the other hand, he was _furious._ Once his wounds healed, he'd spend day and night at the tavern, rambling about the most dreadful things. He believed that Prince Adam wanted Belle for himself, so he'd sent the beast to get rid of him. He thought he didn't want anyone else competing for her hand."

"Then, Gaston left the village for almost two years," Marie-Laura continued. "No one knew where he went or why. And when he came back—"

"—it was like he was a completely different person," her sister finished forlornly. "He started leading rallies around the town, convincing everyone that Prince Adam was just as bad as the Parisian nobles and he'd been using illusions and superstitions to control all of us. He said that stealing Belle was one thing, but he'd be going for our businesses and families next if we didn't fight back."

"And, after all the stuff that's been happening in Paris, I guess didn't take much for the men to start thinking he was right," Marie-Laura concluded.

Arno bit his lip as he mulled over this new information. It was quite possible that Gaston had rallied the townsmen as a personal vendetta against his "stolen" fiancée. But then again, he couldn't deny the resemblance Gaston's story had to the ones he'd heard back in Paris, stories of Templars and extremists creating false propaganda to stir up unrest in the streets. The fact that the girls had mentioned that Gaston wasn't acting like himself only increased his suspicion of his fact. "Has Gaston been in contact with any people outside your village since he started these rallies?" he asked them curiously.

"Not that we know of monsieur," said Marie-Paule. "But... now that you mention it, Gaston _does_ have his own set of keys to the tavern."

"Oh yeah, that's right!" Marie-Laura recalled. "Sometimes, after we've finished work for the night, we see the asylum keeper's carriage outside the tavern. We think he's been paying Gaston late night visits, but we're not really sure why."

But Arno knew _exactly_ why. Marie-Laura and Marie-Paule had just confirmed it. The attack on the _Château de la Rose_ was a joint effort. Gaston and D'Arque had been planning this invasion, together.

"Laura! Paule! They're back!" a voice shouted. The Assassin looked up to see that yet _another_ blonde-haired woman had appeared in the doorway, this time wearing a red dress with a wooden chest tucked under her arm. _Nom de Dieu,_ how many of these women worked here, exactly?

"Marie-Claudia!" Marie-Paule called out to her sister in relief. "What happened? Did the royal family escape?"

Marie-Claudia shook her head. "Gaston has captured the Prince and I have no idea where Princess Belle or her son is. They're taking his majesty away to the asylum right now."

 _Damn._ Now Arno knew he was in trouble. Not only had he missed his chance to stop the invasion, but he was going to lose the Prince he was supposed to escort back to Paris… if he didn't act fast enough. Master Quemar was going to be furious. "Then this is where I make my leave," he announced to the girls.

Marie-Paule had already finished cutting his ropes. He slipped out of them and got to his feet, taking a moment to regain his balance before heading to the exit.

"Wait, monsieur," Marie-Claudia said, stopping Arno as he reached the doorway. "Before you go, you'll be needing these. I managed to take them from Monsieur Gaston's bureau upstairs." She opened the box she'd been holding to reveal Arno's two hidden blades, his pistol and… his pocket father's watch. Arno breathed a sigh of relief. Between his weapons and his father's old timepiece, his father's watch would always come first.

"Monsieur Assassin?" Marie-Paule asked as Arno took his belongings out of the box. "You're not really going to… _kill_ Gaston are you?"

Arno hesitated to answer. Despite all the questionable things Gaston had done, he realized that these women still thought highly of him. He didn't know how to break the news to them gently without frightening them. "He is not my target," he said finally. "But I would advise caution to all of you. The men your employer is working for is not a force to be reckoned with. They will not hesitate to take advantage of you, if you are not on your guard."

" _Nom de Dieu,"_ Marie-Paule sat down on a nearby crate, face turning as green as her dress.

"I—I just can't believe that Monsieur Gaston could get involved in such a thing!" Marie-Claudia said, echoing her sister's sentiments. "I mean he was the greatest man for miles! But if you're right, we will definitely be careful from now on. _Merci, monsieur."_

* * *

Once he'd retrieved his weapons, the triplets escorted Arno to the tavern stables where his horse was waiting for him. Marie-Laura drew him directions to the _Maison des Lunes_ and within half an hour, he reached the Templar's asylum, located in a large clearing in the middle of the woods. After he'd concealed his horse at the edge of the forest, Arno climbed to the top of a sturdy oak tree to get a better view of his surroundings. It was still too early for sunrise, but with his enhanced senses, he could see an artless stone building in front of him, along with several guards patrolling the outer walls. _Extra security to look after D'Arque's newest prize,_ he reasoned. He continued to observe the perimeter for the next several minutes, searching for an opening. If there were any weak spots in D'Arque's defences, he would not fail to find them.

* * *

Adam awoke to the sound of dripping water and an atrocious smell of blood and urine.

To put it in simplest terms, _everything_ hurt. It felt as though he'd been dragged through a bed of gravel with his foot caught in the saddle of a galloping horse, then tossed off a cliff and fallen belly-first into a river of icy water. He thought he'd known pain when Belle had treated his injured arm as a beast over six years ago. But that was _nothing_ compared to this.

Beast. Belle. Pain. Now he remembered why he hurt so much. He opened his eyes.

He was sprawled out on a straw mattress, looking up at a cracked, grey ceiling. On his left was a grimy, stone wall, and in the corner beside that, a water jug, or… judging from the smell, a used chamber pot. He wrinkled his nose distastefully. Even the cell he'd locked Belle's father in six years ago hadn't been _this_ dirty. But if he wasn't in the castle dungeons, then where? There were several prisons in France that damnable hunter could have sent him to. And if he was in a prison, did that mean that Belle and Julien were here, too?

It took a while for Adam to get off the mattress. His body ached in protest when he tried to sit up, and when he swung his feet off the side of the bed, he had to take a moment to hold his head in his hands to stop himself from blacking out again. In front of him was a barred door, and through that door, a gloomy, torch-lit hallway lined with cells. He strained his eyes, trying to see if there were any prisoners in them, but they all appeared empty. An uneasy shiver ran down his spine. Was this punishment for locking his father-in-law in the dungeons all those years ago? At least Maurice had some comfort in knowing his daughter was safe if she stayed in the village. But Adam had no idea where his family or any of his servants were. He didn't even know if they were still alive. A painful lump swelled up in his throat as he imagined their bodies lying in an isolated ditch outside the castle. But he refused to cry. He couldn't give up hope. Not yet.

Standing up, he grabbed on to the bars of his cell and rattled them furiously "Belle? Julien? Is anyone there? It's me! Hello?"

"Oho. Sounds like someone's awake!" an oily voice said from somewhere on his left. A scrawny, musket-bearing man with grey hair and a tricorn hat approached his cell. He wasn't exactly the friendliest-looking man Adam had ever seen, but at least he was somebody.

"I am Adam D'Auvergnon, Prince of Auvergnon," he announced to the stranger boldly. "I command that you release me from this prison at once!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, 'your majesty,'" the man replied, putting mocking emphasis the last two words. "You see, I'm under orders from _le maître de la maison_ to watch over you until the revolutionists take you to Paris. Try to escape and you'll have to answer to him. So I suggest you shut your gob before we rip it from your face."

"Now now, Norbert, there's no need for that," a low voice said behind him. A much older man had appeared behind the first man with receding hair, sallow skin and abnormally long fingers. "Prince Adam isn't our prisoner. He's our _guest._ Now go to the door and let Charles in. He should be here with the package any moment."

 _"Oui monsieur,"_ Norbert said reluctantly. He slouched his shoulders and exited the corridor, leaving Adam alone with the sickly old man.

"Who are you?" Adam asked the newcomer. "Where's Belle?"

"I'm the owner of this asylum, Monsieur D'Arque," D'Arque replied calmly. "And I wouldn't worry about your wife anymore, your highness. Gaston is taking good care of her. She was payment for bringing you to me, you see."

Adam couldn't have heard a worse combination of words. Belle alone with Gaston could lead to _several_ implications, many he didn't even want to _think_ about. "And what exactly do you want with me?" he asked uneasily.

"Haven't you been reading the newspapers, your majesty?" D'Arque continued. "Word on the street is that Madame Guillotine has become new sensation of Paris. Citizens from all over the city stop to watch her sever the heads of criminals and traitors to the Assembly. Throw in a Prince who's been disguising himself as a beast to scare his subjects into submission, and it might just cause an upheaval great enough to purge all the noblemen of the nation. Imagine it, the heads of every aristocrat, paraded on spikes for all of Paris see. Maybe even the heads of king and queen themselves."

Adam gulped. He _had_ been thinking about that possibility in the past few weeks, but he'd planned to evacuate his family to England before the turmoil in Paris escalated. Now that _he_ was heading to the guillotine, it was taking every bit of his willpower not to panic. "It won't work," he told the man firmly. "King Louis knows who I am. He'll—he'll find a way to clear my charges."

"In case you've forgotten, your majesty, King Louis has made an oath of allegiance to the French Constitution," said D'Arque. "If he tries to break that oath by stopping your execution, the crime would be just as heinous as declaring war on France herself. Face it, you're going to die, and nobody, not even your wife, will miss you."

"Monsieur," a man interrupted from the end of the corridor. "The package."

"Excellent, Charles," said D'Arque said, turning to the speaker with a twisted smile. "Bring it forth."

As Charles made his way to Adam's cell, the asylum keeper continued, "As hard as it may be to believe, Prince Adam, you and I are not so different. Your job is to take care of your subjects, mine is to take care of my patients. For years, I've been tending to the sick in this asylum, trying to subdue them, give them the peace of mind they so desperately crave. I was at my wit's end, looking for answers. But then," he paused triumphantly. "I discovered _them._ The Templars. And they showed me the true meaning of power and how to use it to _properly._ Together with them, we will destroy the old monarch and rebuild this world as it was meant to be. A world of order and purpose, with no wars, no suffering, no corruption. Just... peace. Perfect, untainted peace."

Adam widened his eyes, almost certain that the man had lost his mind. "Surely there is no man on earth capable of wielding such power," he replied.

"So naïve." D'Arque smirked. "But I suppose I cannot blame you for your ignorance. After all, you were only a victim of the artifact's illusion. It's such a pity that my master has only requested that I retrieve the device for him. But I'm sure he will not deny me a small taste of the forbidden fruit before I hand it over."

Before Adam could ask what the crazy man was insinuating, Charles appeared at the end of the hallway. He was oddly dressed, wearing a dark blue tailcoat, asymmetrical waistcoat, red cravat and a pair of black, travelling boots. A pointy hood concealed the upper part of his face, and a handsomely crafted sword and pistol was attached to his belt. He looked more mercenary to Adam than a prison guard, which was very peculiar. Then, he saw the chest he was carrying and stepped backwards in horror. It was the same chest he'd used to conceal the mirror for these past five years. The chest that nobody was meant to open.

D'Arque also seemed startled by the man's presence, but for a different reason. "You're not Charles," he said bluntly.

"No," the man agreed. "I'm not."

It happened very fast. The man extended his right arm and flicked back his hand to reveal a blade attached to the underside of his gauntlet. Before D'Arque could so much as scream, the man plunged the blade straight into his unguarded throat.

If there was ever a time Adam wished he could run, it was now.


	6. Unlikely Alliances

As he pierced Monsieur D'Arque in the neck with his hidden blade, Arno had a vision. Like all his targets' memories, it was foggy and fragmented, like looking through a bowl of darkly tinted glass.

_He was in a dimly lit room, watching two men sitting together at a table. One of them was D'Arque and the other, dressed in a black hooded cloak was the elusive Templar, Germain himself._

_"So you understand my predicament," Germain said, setting down the cup in front of him. "Time is of the essence. Once the mirror's powers have been rendered useless, I'll need someone to retrieve it for me. It must not fall into the Assassins' hands at any cost."_

_"I am an asylum keeper, not a thief," D'Arque replied. "I can't simply walk into the castle and demand the Prince hand me the device."_

_To that, Germain slammed a dagger into the table, causing D'Arque to jump from his seat in alarm. "Then you will find someone who can," he threatened. "Do not forget who appointed you to this position, D'Arque. I can easily remove it from you if I feel your services are no longer to my…_ satisfaction."

_The image dissolved and reformed itself again. D'Arque was standing at the edge of a river with a group of villagers, watching two burly men pull a body out of the water. On closer glance, Arno realized the body was Gaston, only his clothing was badly torn and he was covered in blood. He looked horribly pale, nearly minutes away from death._

_Desperate to save their fallen hero, the men dragged and deposited Gaston on to the shore. There, a third townsman ran up to the hunter and put an ear to his chest. Silence fell over the glade as everyone waited for a verdict. One villager even muttered a prayer under his breath._

_Then, the man's eyes widened in disbelief._

" _He's still breathing," he said, turning back to the crowd._ "Vite! _Somebody fetch the wagon!"_

_The scene dissolved and reformed itself again. Gaston was back in the tavern, conscious and sitting in his fur throne with an enormous scowl on his face. His face and neck was covered with bruises and lacerations, and his right arm was wrapped in a sling, but other than that, he looked much better than he had in the previous memory._

_"It's not fair, LeFou!" he barked at the short man beside him serving him beers. "Belle was supposed to be_ mine! _How could I lose to that –- that_ Prince?"

 _"Well he_ is _the richest guy in the province," LeFou pointed out uncertainly. "Maybe she's only into guys who have a lot of money."_

_Gaston lifted his good arm, as though to smack LeFou, when D'Arque suddenly approached them._

" _Perhaps I can remedy your situation," he said with a twisted grin. From his greedy expression alone, Arno guessed that he'd been waiting for this moment for a_ very _long time._

_The memory changed once again. Gaston was still in the tavern, only now he was standing on a table surrounded by a crowd of townsmen. It was obvious that some time had passed since the last memory, because now he was completely healed, the only trace of injury being the long scar covering his left eye._

_"Boys, for too long we've lived in fear of our leaders," he bellowed over the racket. "For too long we've been oppressed by Prince Adam's unreasonable laws, treated like nobodies while he indulges in treasures that rightfully belong to us. But not anymore. Tonight, we'll take back what's ours. Tonight, we'll make a stand for businesses and our families. And most of all: we'll show Prince Adam that we're not afraid of him. Because together, we are unstoppable. Together, we are_ true _Frenchmen."_

"Hourra!" _the men cheered, lifting their beers in the air. Gaston mirrored the gesture with his own drink and then jumped off the table to meet with D'Arque._

" _Inspiring speech, Gaston," the asylum keeper said as they meandered through the crowd, patrons patting Gaston on the back as he passed them. "You certainly have a way with words. The Grand Master will be very pleased with you."_

" _I know," Gaston replied boastfully._

" _There's just one more thing to take care of before we proceed with the attack tonight."_

" _Oh? And what's that?" He winked at a barmaid – Marie-Laura, Arno thought it was – who nearly dropped her tray of tankards in surprise._

" _I've just received word that one of those pesky Assassins will be coming to Villeneuve tonight. You know, of course, what a nuisance it would be if he were to discover our plans."_

_"Say no more, Claude. I wasn't the wrestling champion at the county fair for seven years for nothing! I'll give our Assassin a nice welcoming present."_

"Do not _underestimate them," D'Arque warned. "The Assassins are well-trained and highly skilled, not someone you can finish off in a common roughhousing match. If you intend to beat them, you must go for a more tactical approach."_

 _"But I_ always _win at wrestling matches," Gaston pouted. But seeing the displeased look on the asylum keeper's face, he immediately changed his tune. "Fine then. What's the plan?"_

 _"If an Assassin stops by the tavern tonight, offer him a drink and put some of_ this _into it." D'Arque took a small, clear vial of liquid out of his pocket and handed it to Gaston. "It's a powerful poison made by our friends in the South, guaranteed to knock out its victim within minutes of being administered. As soon as he takes it, Belle and the Prince will be as good ours."_

_Gaston turned the vial around his fingers, fascinated. "I just slip this into his drink, and he'll fall asleep?"_

_"Yes. But only for a few hours. After that, you are free to finish him off any way you wish."_

_The hunter liked the sound of that. He tightened his grip on the poison and stuffed it into his pocket. "Claude, I like your thinking."_

And now Arno was back in the _Maison des Lunes_ with D'Arque, who was looking up at him with glazed over, unblinking eyes. Knowing that the asylum keeper had long made his way to the afterlife, Arno removed his hidden blade and lowered the body to the ground with the chest. _One mission down, another to go._ Now to deal with the next part of his assignment: the well sought-after Prince Adam.

* * *

Adam continued to step away from the stranger until his back was pressed against the wall behind him and he could move no further. His heart was beating so fast he feared it was going to leap from his chest. He'd just seen that hooded man _kill_ someone. A someone he wouldn't say he would miss, but a _person_ nonetheless. But _why?_ Who was he? And had he come to kill him, too?

The man approached the Prince's cell and drew back his hood. He didn't look like a blood-crazy madman, whoever he was. He had dark brown hair drawn back in a ponytail and brown eyes framed by a pair of thick eyebrows. His nose was long and straight, and a faint scar was visible from the bridge of his nose to his left cheek. He also seemed remarkably clean-shaven and young. If Adam were to guess, the man was not much older than himself.

"Prince Adam, I presume?" the man said in an accent that hinted of someone who'd been raised in an upper-class household.

Adam's mouth hung open in shock. "Who—who are you?" His voice sounded smaller than he intended, which said a lot because "soft-spoken" had never been one of his defining personality traits.

"My name is Arno Dorian," the man replied. "I've come to get you out of here... if you'll give me a moment."

 _Arno. Arno._ Adam had heard that name before. But where? Then, it struck him.

"I know you!" he exclaimed as Arno bent down to pick open the lock on his cell. "You were in the newspaper once. You're the one who killed _Seigneur_ de la Serre back in Versailles. But that must have been about four, three years ago?" Adam and Belle had met Lord de la Serre in the Palace of Versailles, just a few months after their marriage _._ Adam's memories of the old man were vague, but he did remember him asking several annoying questions about his father, Prince Samuel, as well as regretting that his daughter Élise couldn't meet with them because she was away at a finishing school in Saint-Cyr. He had also mentioned that he had a ward named Arno who worked in his household as an apprentice of sorts. Studying him now, Adam realized this young man must have been him.

At the mention of his adopted father, Arno's expression lowered. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so forthcoming in giving his name to the Prince. While in Paris, Arno's "crime" had been long forgotten, buried under all the other events had happened after the Bastille storming, here in the countryside, where news travelled more slowly, his adopted father's death would still seem recent. But now was not the time to let his emotions impede his mission. Bearing that in mind, he resumed his expressionless facade and continued to pick at the lock.

"I don't deny I was responsible for his death," he mumbled. "But... it's in the past now." He unlocked the door and swung it open. "Now hurry. The guards will be here soon, and I must escort you to Paris with all possible haste."

But Adam didn't move a muscle. It was one thing to be rescued by a stranger, another to be rescued by a criminal _and_ murderer all in one. Sure, it wasn't as bad as getting tricked by an enchantress disguised as an old lady, but it was cutting it awfully close. "You aren't with the revolutionists, are you?" he asked him suspiciously.

"No, your highness. I work for... a different organization."

"Well with all due respect, _Arno,_ I was just imprisoned by a man who was intending to ship me off to Paris to be executed. How can I be sure that you aren't involved in some kind of plot to kill me as well?"

It took every ounce of Arno's willpower _not_ to roll his eyes. The Prince had every right to be wary of course, but at the same time, he'd never had much patience for men who asked too many questions. Nonetheless, he obliged him, pulling Master Quemar's envelope out of his pocket and holding it out to him. "Will this answer your question?"

"What is that?"

"A letter. For you."

Raising a sceptical eyebrow, Adam crossed the cell, took the envelope, opened it and read:

_3 December, 1777_

_M,_

_I have made all the necessary arrangements for our meeting in Paris in two weeks' time. As agreed, I will be in front of the cathedral no later than noon on Christmas day with the artifact in hand. By passing the device to your people, I intend to sever my connection with the Templars, for good. My faith in de la Serre has been shaken, and I feel this solution is for the best, not only for France, but all mankind._

_Yours respectfully,_

_-S_

To anyone else, this letter would seem like complete nonsense – a message from a secret cult or a group of crazy conspirators, perhaps. But after skimming through the castle's old documents for the past five years, Adam knew better. This letter was written in Prince Samuel's hand. His _father's_ hand, just weeks before he'd died.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, looking back at Arno.

"From my master in Paris," Arno answered diligently. "He requested that I bring you to the city so he could relay some important information to you. Information, which I assume is related to that letter."

Adam considered that. One the one hand, it was possible that Arno really _was_ tricking him, and this escort mission was a ruse to hold him as a ransom for the king or to advance the revolution. On the other hand, Adam's father's handwriting was very difficult to forge, and the mention of the "Templars" was definitely a word he'd heard D'Arque mention before his sudden death. Was Arno telling him the truth about the letter? And if so, could he trust him to keep his word and take him to Paris, unharmed?

There was only one way to find out.

"The men who invaded my castle took my wife and son captive, and I don't know where they are," he said, returning the envelope to him. "You help me find them. Then, and _only_ then will I come with you to Paris and meet with this 'master' of yours."

Arno shrugged. "Whatever you wish," he replied, as though retrieving lost family members was an ordeal he dealt with regularly. "But first, we must find you some better threads. You couldn't sneak through a sewer dressed in that, much less a village."

"Well dressing for the occasion isn't exactly on your mind when you're busy running for your life," Adam replied, eyeing his now-tattered nightshirt. He supposed he had a point.

"I have an idea. Follow me."

Adam shrugged and followed Arno out of the cell. He took one last look at D'Arque's body as they passed him. The chest was just an arm's length away from his corpse, and despite his distrust of his hooded rescuer, Adam couldn't help feeling grateful to him for stopping the old man from opening the box when he did. He knew he'd go mad if he had to suffer from the mirror's powers again. But he also knew that he couldn't just leave it here for someone else to take. Bearing that in mind, he knelt down and opened the heavy chest.

"All that just for a mirror?" Arno said, looking over Adam's shoulder curiously. From his tone of voice, Adam guessed that Arno had no idea what the mirror really was. Perhaps it was better to keep it that way.

"Not just a mirror," he answered. "Something that should have never fallen into our hands. But I'll carry it with me for now." He returned to his cell, ripped a piece off the ragged blanket on the bed and wrapped it around the mirror several times before stuffing it into the drawers under his nightshirt. He hated putting the mirror so close to himself, but between leaving it here for D'Arque's minions to collect or keeping it where it would be safe, he knew what the better choice was.

"Suit yourself," Arno replied with shrug. He was only here to help the Prince, not meddle with his personal possessions. Keeping that in mind, he escorted him out of the corridor, into another hallway filled with more empty cells and several guards lying face down on the floor.

"Did you... kill all these men?" Adam said, gazing at the scene in astonishment.

"I needed to clear a path," Arno replied with the air of someone who was justifying closing a window to prevent a draft. "These guards aren't your typical prison wranglers. They were stationed here to kill anyone who crossed their path. See?" He kicked the arm of the guard closest to him and a musket clattered to the floor. All the guards had muskets on them, Adam realized. Arno was telling the truth.

"Let me guess. They were hired to stop you, were they?"

"A fair deduction." Arno walked to another guard and turned him on his back. "This one looks about your size, don't you think?"

The Prince's mouth dropped open in horror, realizing what he was insinuating. "You can't be asking me to—"

"—Listen, your majesty." Arno interrupted. "You asked me to help you find your wife and son. I understand that you are accustomed to propriety, but it is essential that we blend in if we are to travel back to your castle. This is the only way."

Adam gritted his teeth in rage. No one told him what to do! Gaston had taken his wife captive and he wanted revenge. He wanted to find that backstabbing man and teach him a lesson he'd never forget.

But at the same time, he knew that Gaston hadn't banded those armed invaders to storm the castle in one night. He'd planned his attack tactfully, which meant, if Adam wanted to get his family back, he had to do the same. He sighed.

"Very well." _For Belle and Julien._ He knelt down and helped Arno remove the first shoe from the dead man's feet.

* * *

It was as though she'd fallen into one of her nightmares again. One minute Gaston had knocked her husband unconscious and ordered his men to take him away. The next minute, his cronies were tossing a burlap sack over her head and marching her out of the castle with a pistol pressed to her neck so she wouldn't run off. Once outside, they threw her into the back of a wagon, where she was jostled around like a bushel of apples being sent to the marketplace. She screamed and screamed until her face was damp with sweat and her mouth dry as cotton, but no one came to her rescue. She felt humiliated, angry, and above all, afraid. Lord knew what Gaston planned to do to Adam now that he'd learned he was the Beast. And Julien… her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she tried to imagine where he could be. _If those monsters let anything happen to him...No, no, I can't think like that! He has to be all right! He just has to! Oh, God...please, please let him be safe! My poor baby..._

After what seemed an eternity, the captors stopped the wagon and pulled the distraught Princess back to her feet. Belle could hear rustling leaves and feel damp earth under her toes as they escorted her to her next destination… had they taken her into the woods perhaps? They led her up a flight of steps, into an enclosed area that smelt of fresh wood and paint. There, they forced her into a chair, unbound her wrists and tied her down with even thicker rope so she couldn't stand up again.

"Where am I?" she asked them repeatedly. "What do you want from me?" But they offered no answers. Their footsteps grew fainter and fainter, and they left her to wait. But for what? She didn't know. The only things she could think of waiting for here were to die of heat and thirst.

But then, she heard footsteps again. Heavy boots stomping across hardwood, followed by the sharp clicking of heels. The noises grew louder, stopped, and then someone removed the burlap sack from her face.

"Hello, Belle," Gaston said buoyantly, as though he was exchanging pleasantries with her in the marketplace instead of keeping her tied to a chair against her will. "I'm sorry I had to put you through that back there. But it was for the best. If you saw where I was taking you, you might have tried to escape, or run for help."

With a flick of his arm, he tossed the bag to a woman in a red dress standing behind him. Belle immediately recognized her as one of the blonde triplets from her village. What was her name again? Marie-Paule? Marie-Claudia? Confused, and wanting to savour her small freedom, she glanced over at her surroundings.

She appeared to be in the parlour of a spacious log cabin. Horizontal logs and wooden beams lined the walls and slanted ceiling above her. To her right and facing her were two doors leading to what she assumed were other parts of the house. On the left was a fireplace, the mantelpiece decked with several deer heads and taxidermic animals. A chandelier made of antlers hung from the ceiling, and underneath her chair was a brown bear rug. Just looking at it gave her the creeps. The colour of its fur was eerily similar to the Beast's.

"Where's my family?" she asked, turning sharply back to Gaston. "What have you done with them?"

"Your little brat is fine for now," Gaston replied. Belle had a moment of deep relief, but then he went on, "But I can't say the same about your husband _._ He was beheaded in the town square less than an hour ago for crimes against the village and the rest of France. He's dead."

It was as though someone had punched her in the stomach with a pair of thick brass knuckles. Dozens of emotions raced through her mind: shock, horror, but most of all, denial. Adam couldn't be dead, just couldn't! Just a day ago they'd been discussing the best way to tell Julien about their decision to move to England. And now, that conversation would never take place. Julien had no father anymore. "No!" she said aloud. "I don't believe it. You're lying!"

Gaston shook his head pityingly. "Belle, you _knew_ that this had to happen sooner or later," he said, as though explaining to a simpleton. "You've heard about the uprisings against the king, all the fury at how he's treated his subjects. Imagine the reaction when they heard about a Prince using a ferocious 'beast' to terrorize his subjects and keep them in line! It just added more fuel to the flames. I know you wanted to protect him, but his secret couldn't stay hidden forever."

"No," Belle moaned again. The last thing she wanted was to cry in front of her old nemesis, but she couldn't help herself. He was right. The enchantress may have cursed Adam to teach him a lesson in kindness, but the rest of French society would see him as nothing more than an abomination. It wasn't fair. All Belle wanted was to give Adam a normal life with a loving wife and family, away from the demons that had plagued him for so many years. But the world was not as merciful. The villagers had killed Adam without a trial, without a chance to explain himself. Not even a chance for her to say goodbye.

A light touch on the shoulder roused the Princess from her thoughts. Adam might be dead but Gaston was still here. "There, there Belle," he cooed. "It's not the end of the world. You must be thirsty from your ride here. How about some water? Or maybe some venison stew? I made it myself… well, hunted the animal myself, anyway."

Marie-Claudia handed Gaston a silver tray containing a bowl of hearty brown stew, a sliced baguette, a piece of camembert cheese and a glass of water. It looked and smelt delicious, but Belle refused a single bite. Never in a million years would she ever accept hospitality from such a vile snake.

In one swift motion, she brought her right knee up and kicked the bottom of the tray into the air. The contents went flying, the stew narrowly missing Gaston's face as he hastily jumped back and it went crashing to the floor. Marie-Claudia was at the scene in an instant, pulling out a handkerchief and cleaning up the mess.

Gaston turned to his defiant prisoner. For a moment, he looked furious, as though he wanted to hit her, and she tensed. But then, with an obvious effort, he calmed down, returning to trying to "reason" with her.

"I think we need to clear up a few misunderstandings, Belle," he said, as he stepped closer to her. "This house you're sitting in right now was the house I built for _us._ _Our home,_ where you'd cook my kills, massage my feet, raise my strapping sons. Just like I said we would, all those years ago."

He placed his hands in Belle's lap, making her squirm in her seat. Every nerve in her body wanted to slap him away, but her bindings prevented her from doing so. "I will never marry you," she hissed instead. "It wasn't enough that I refused your proposal twice. Now you've kidnapped me, taken me prisoner, and conspired to kill the man I love. How could you expect me to say yes after everything you've done? How could anyone?"

"Oh, Belle, Belle. You still don't get it, do you? I didn't kidnap you back there. I _saved_ you!" Gaston said triumphantly. "You should be _thanking_ me. If it weren't for me, you'd be dead right now." He caressed the side of her face, and she flinched away from him in disgust. "The Legislative Assembly wanted to have _you_ executed too, you see. But I persuaded them to change their mind. Because I know you're different."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "Because I'm the only woman in town who didn't fall at your feet and had the nerve to say 'no' to going back to the tavern with you to see your trophies? Well maybe I should clear up a misunderstanding with you too, Gaston. That's not because I was flirting with you. That's because I _wasn't interested."_

"Belle, you're not listening!" Gaston repeated, frustrated. "You're different because you've been dreaming of more than just a provincial life. Of being in a world where people understand and admire you. You're ambitious, like I am – you weren't satisfied with life in a tiny little village. You wanted _more. That's_ why you read books! I didn't understand it before, but now I do."

He stood up, and his expression seemed wild, almost possessed. "Why should I settle for being the greatest man of a little village when I can be the greatest man in the country, or the entire _world?_ Well now, pumpkin, both our dreams are about to come true! Just look around you. Everything is changing. The royals who looked down on people like me are being persecuted left and right. The crown is ending. But once the old regime falls away, the people will need _new_ leaders! And who better to lead them than _me?"_ He smiled at her, "Me, and my little wife by my side."

There was a long pause, in which Belle was trying to decide if she was talking to Gaston or a complete lunatic. "What are you saying?" she asked finally.

"I'm in contact with a very powerful organization, Belle," Gaston explained elatedly. "They're the winning team, clever and strong and resourceful. They're sweeping all the old ways away, and they're going to take over _everything._ And they recruited _me,_ Belle!" He puffed out his chest, bursting with pride. "They're very smart – as soon as they met me, they immediately recognized my magnificence and my superiority! They asked me to join them in their cause and to be a leader of this new era. People are like sheep; they need strong leaders to guide them and tell them what to do and what to think. This organization has promised make me even more powerful than a king! And you could be my queen, with just one little word."

Another minute passed before Belle could think of a coherent response. She wasn't sure what was more disturbing: the fact that there was a society out there who _believed_ this was the right way to run the world, or that Gaston didn't seem to think there was a single thing wrong with what he was proposing. "Y-you can't be serious!" she stammered finally. "We can't just go around telling people what to do and what to think. People need _freedom."_

"Disagree with me all you like, Belle," Gaston said, growing impatient. "But the point is, you're tied up. And I'm not letting you go until you say yes."

"Well I guess you're in for a disappointment then," she spat back at him. "Because I'll _never_ agree to your proposal. You've killed my husband, and I will never, _ever_ do anything you want! I won't ever be your wife, _or_ the 'queen' of your twisted organization."

" _Nom d'un chien!"_ Gaston stormed away from her in a fury. "Fine, then. If you don't accept my proposal, then…then…" He paused, then said triumphantly, "I'll kill that bastard son of yours!"

"Julien?" Her eyes widened in shock. "You _wouldn't!_ He's only a child!"

"But he won't be forever, will he?" His eyes gleamed maliciously. "Maybe I should do it right now. Unless you agree to marry me, that is."

"Let me see him," Belle insisted. "I won't agree to _anything_ until I see for myself that he's safe!"

To her surprise, instead of ordering Marie-Claudia to fetch her son, Gaston shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Belle's eyes. "He's asleep," he prevaricated. "Marie-Claudia and her sisters just put him to bed..."

Belle stared at him, and her eyes narrowed. "Why on earth would you care about that?" she said. "You just said you'd _kill_ him! Now you don't want to disturb his sleep?" Gaston didn't answer. Belle's voice rose to a shout. "WHERE THE HELL IS MY SON?! What did you do to him?"

Gaston sighed, rubbing his arms uncomfortably. "We never found him," he confessed at last. "My men searched the whole castle for him, but he must have escaped."

 _Escaped._ Belle breathed a sigh of relief. If Julien had got away that meant Gaston couldn't harm him! _Thank God..._

But her relief was short-lived as she wondered where he was. He was only three years old – far too young to take care of himself. Was he wandering around the woods, lost and alone and scared, crying for his Maman? Her heart twisted painfully at the thought. Just because Gaston's men hadn't found him didn't mean he was _safe,_ wherever he was _._ "Let me go," she implored. "If he wandered into the woods, he could get hurt, or die! He's only a toddler. Let me find him! I'm begging you!"

Gaston smirked; glad to finally have gotten to her. He folded his arms. "No can do, Belle. Until you agree to marry me, you remained tied to that seat, no exceptions."

"But…" She silenced herself, realizing there was no further point in arguing. Unlike her husband, who had always been prone to lose his temper when things didn't go his way, Belle knew how to keep her anger in check. And she also knew that no amount of shouting or backlash would get Gaston to change his mind. If she wanted to save her son, she had to choose her next words carefully.

"If I accept your proposal," she began softly, "will you promise to find my son, and bring him to me, unharmed?"

Gaston pursed his lips, thinking. "Maybe."

" _Maybe?_ I thought the whole reason you brought me here was to get me to marry you!"

"That's only _part_ of what I want, Belle," Gaston said calmly.

"Then what's the other part?"

"You defied me once," he explained. "I need your word that you won't do it again. We may have servants to do all the cooking and cleaning in our new home, but I still expect you to serve and obey me like a good little wife. When I'm away on business, you're going to manage our estate, making sure all my statues and portraits are straightened and dusted to perfection. If we have guests over for dinner, you will sit across from me and tell them how important and wonderful you think I am. If we're invited to any social events, you will stay on my arm and make it clear to everyone you are completely in love with me. And… I expect you to be heavy with our firstborn by the end of this year."

"What?" Belle gasped.

"You're not getting any younger, Belle," Gaston pointed out. "You _owe_ me for our lost time, cooped up in that monster's castle when you should have borne me _six_ of my strapping boys already! So, starting after our wedding ceremony, you will lie with me every night until you've conceived. And of course, whenever I need you to pleasure me. Do you understand?"

Belle felt like she was going to vomit. Still, thinking of Julien, she whispered, "I do."

"Good girl." Gaston patted her on the head and smiled. "I knew you'd come to your senses eventually. But just to make sure you'll keep your word; I'm keeping you locked up here for the rest of the day. And before you even _think_ about running away, let me remind you that I have armed men stationed in every corner of this house. If you try to escape, I will be the first to know about it. Now come along, Marie."

As Gaston and Marie-Claudia exited the room, the weight of Belle's decision sank into her like a stone. She'd just made a bargain with the man she hated most, a bargain that it would bind her to him for the rest of her life. But what else could she do? Adam was dead, and Julien was all she had left now. The only thing that mattered.

As Marie-Claudia followed Gaston out the door, she turned back and mouthed three words to the Princess: _"Help is coming."_

Then Gaston shut the door, leaving Belle alone to the darkness, her tears and her rapidly beating heart.

* * *

"Bonjour, Gaston. How'd it go with the Princess?"

"Oh, you know what women are like, Jérémy," Gaston replied, leaning casually against the veranda fence. "She's just playing hard to get. But I have just the plan to win her over."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"I want you to find the Princess's son and bring him to me. Alive."

"Her son?" The mercenary raised an eyebrow at him inquisitively. "But sire, I thought you said to lay off the search for him. The boy isn't of any importance to us. He's not of proper royal lineage and he's of no value to the Assembly or the monarch."

"To hell with what I said!" Gaston snapped back at him. _"They_ may not need him, but Belle does. She'll do _anything_ to know that bastard of hers is safe. So I want you to find him and bring him here. Then, once the priest pronounces us husband and wife, I want you to kill him."

"Kill him, sire?" Jérémy repeated in surprise.

"Poison him, bash him in the head, toss him into the river. Do anything you can think of. But make sure it looks like an accident!" Gaston stressed. "Children die from accidents and illnesses all the time anyway. It won't be hard to make up a story."

"Understood, sire."

" _Bien._ Well don't just stand there!" Gaston snapped. "Get on with it! I have a wedding to plan."

As Jérémy hurried to the village, the hunter crossed his arms with a content smile on his face. He'd planned his life together with Belle perfectly, from the estate they'd live in to the names of their seven sons. No illegitimate child would interfere with that. He'd let Belle spend one day with the bastard before the wedding ceremony and that was it. Her new life as Madame Gaston would begin the moment they exchanged their vows. Then, starting on their wedding night, Gaston would claim her body over and over, until all that petty resistance in her was extinguished and she'd know nothing but her place beneath him. In time, she'd grow so dependent on him that she'd deny that she'd ever belonged to anyone else. By then, her belly would be swelling with his long-awaited heir, her head filled with nothing but the joys of mothering a strapping boy; not like the pathetic weakling she'd lost before. It was _destiny_ that Belle become his wife, he just had to help her see it. And he'd succeed, or his name wasn't Gaston!

Belle would get what she wanted, and he'd get _exactly_ what he'd always wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to TrudiRose for editing this chapter and making sure Belle sounded more like a mother, and Gaston sounded more like Gaston. And also to everyone on B&S who attended the writers' workshop last month and gave me suggestions on how to put the last section of this chapter together. You all rock!
> 
> P.S. If anyone is interested in reading a very early version of Adam's dungeon scene which I wrote in 2013, before AC4 or AC:Unity had been released, check out [this forum post here.](http://z6.invisionfree.com/bittersweet_strange/index.php?showtopic=3164&view=findpost&p=22022401)


	7. Partners in Crime

The sun was just peeking over the treetops by the time they reached the place where Arno had hidden his horse. The Assassin had to commend the Prince. He thought he would be a basket case after his hesitation to put on the guard's uniform in the asylum. Instead, he complained no further as Arno led him outside, past a field of unsuspecting guards, around a scrap yard, and finally, to the safety of the forest. He was very different from the aristocrats Arno had known back in Paris, quick to follow his commands and light on his feet – though maybe his age and physique was part of the reason. But even without these qualities there was something _different_ about him – a kind of fire about him that Arno wouldn't usually associate with a man who'd lived in a castle all his life. It made him wonder again what had sparked those villagers' rumours about the beast, and if there was any truth to them.

The journey through the woods was quiet, as it would be for two men whose only common goal was finding the people responsible for kidnapping the Prince's family. It was Adam who finally broke the silence between them.

"So I'm assuming you were one of the prisoners who escaped from the Bastille during the storming, were you?"

Arno grimaced. Until this point he'd been content to keep his past a secret. But they still had ways to go before they reached civilization and no one seemed to be following them. "I had a bit of help," he replied, "but yes."

Still, he couldn't admit this without thinking about the man who'd helped him escape. Bellec had been dead for over a year now, but as his former pupil, Arno supposed there were some memories of the old mentor he couldn't erase. He still remembered the chilling words he'd uttered before his death: _"To save the Brotherhood, I'd see Paris burn."_ It was a grave reminder to Arno that even the Assassins weren't immune to their own forms of corruption and fanaticism.

"And what now?" Adam continued, bringing Arno back to the present. "You've been lying low in Paris all this time, serving this 'master' of yours?"

"More or less," Arno replied. There was more to it than that of course, but he wasn't in the mood to elaborate. He wasn't sure the Prince would believe his story, anyway. He didn't know if he could make sense of it all himself.

"What about these Templars D'Arque was talking about back in the asylum?" Adam continued. "He can't have meant the Knights Templar from the Crusade wars, could he? I thought they died out centuries ago."

"Wouldn't that be nice," Arno answered dryly. "Regrettably, I can assure you that they are still are very real. They've just learned not to stretch their necks out as far as they used to."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Let's just say that if they invited you to a dinner party, you probably wouldn't make it to dessert."

" _Nom de Dieu."_ Adam shook his head. "If I knew these kinds of men were here, trying to imprison my family, I would have taken them out of France ages ago. The attack happened so quickly, I had no time to prepare."

"It wasn't your fault," Arno replied in sympathy. "You couldn't have known." The world was full of corrupt leaders and politicians if King Louis wasn't a prime example of that already. But the Templars were the worst of the lot because they were the _invisible_ dictators, the ones who'd been pulling the strings of the world's greatest human atrocities since the dawn of civilization. They were everywhere on the globe, but France was where they'd been using most of their firepower lately; for reasons the Assassins had yet to discover.

"And what of you, your highness?" the Assassin said, looking to change the subject. "Have you been having any… 'animal problems' in your castle lately?"

The Prince's shoulders tensed. "Listen," he said, turning to him sharply, "whatever rumours you've heard about me, it's not true. What happened that night with the mob… it wasn't my fault. I never killed anyone!"

"Sorry, your majesty," Arno apologized. "I'm just repeating what the locals told me." Sensing he'd touched a nerve, he decided to drop the subject. "What about your wife, Princess Belle? Is it true that she wasn't born of nobility?"

"Yes," the Prince replied irritably. "That much I can say is true."

"How did you two meet, if you mind my asking?"

"She stayed at my castle for a time, as part of a… bargain we made."

"A bargain?"

"It's none of your business!" he snapped. Then, as though guilty for lashing out at him, he took a deep breath and added, "All I can say is I didn't know what love was until I met her. And after I did…" his voice grew sombre, "I knew I couldn't live without her. When I asked her to marry me and she agreed, it was the best day of my life."

"She must be very fortunate to have someone like you, going out to rescue her," Arno said in understanding. "Lesser men wouldn't even take that risk. They'd think only of themselves and their own safety."

"She's my wife. It's the least I can do; after all she's done for me. How much longer until we get to the castle anyway?"

"Not long. But with your permission, your majesty, I'd like to stop in the local village first. It might carry clues to where the radicals could have taken your family."

"As long as it takes them to where they are, lead on," the Prince replied. "I just hope that Belle's all right. If that damn hunter does anything to her _or_ my son, I'll tear him apart."

* * *

With dawn fast approaching, the little town of Villeneuve was slowly waking to face the arduous and unexceptional day ahead of them. On the streets, vendors assembled their and carts and stalls, filled with the usual array of goods to sell. The mouth-watering scent of bread wafted from the baker's open window down the road. Arno realized that several villagers were staring at him and the Prince as they rode through the town, and knew they couldn't linger. Although the Prince was in disguise, in a village where everyone knew each other on a first name basis, two conspicuously dressed men on a horse were bound to turn some heads. As though he'd made the same observation, the Prince lowered the brim of his stolen hat closer to his face.

"Where could they be?" he asked Arno after they'd dismounted and tethered their horse outside an abandoned bookshop. "I've only seen this village in passing. I have no idea where to start looking."

"Use your instincts," Arno answered. "Find something that looks off colour or suspicious."

"These people are looking at _me_ suspiciously right now!"

"You're wearing a hat. No one can see your face. Just relax. If you look nervous, you'll draw more attention to yourself."

For the next five minutes, the men looked up and down the street, searching for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. Finally, Arno sensed him just seconds before he spotted him: an armed radical emerging behind the metalsmith's shop, looking around shiftily as though searching for something.

"That gentleman looks a little out of sorts, don't you think?" he said to the Prince, gesturing to him.

" _Oui,"_ Adam nodded. "He's dressed just like the men who invaded my castle."

"I guess he's our man to follow then. Stay close."

The Prince and the Assassin tailed the man down the street, sticking to the alleyways in case he turned around and spotted them by accident. But at last, he stopped outside the tavern Arno had visited the previous night. And he wasn't alone. A stout man with a bulbous nose and black ponytail stood by the door, clearly drunk on whatever was in the bottle he held in his hand.

"That must be LeFou!" Adam whispered to Arno in recognition. "My wife told me about him. He's the lackey of the man who attacked us last night."

Arno nodded. He too recognized the rotund man from Monsieur D'Arque's memories. He peered over the edge of the alleyway and strained to hear to their conversation.

"Listen, you fool," the radical was saying to LeFou harshly. "I need those keys so I can access Monsieur Gaston's maps from upstairs. He's asked me to find the Princess's son, and I have to look at them before I search the area."

"Nope." LeFou shook his head, but the motion caused him to sway drunkenly and almost lose his balance. "Not doin' scrap for you. You took my best pal away."

"LeFou, we can do this the easy way or the hard way," the man said, growing irritable. "The easy way, you hand over the keys and stay out of matters that don't concern you. Or the hard way, I will take them from you by force."

LeFou hiccupped. "Do what you want, _connard._ I'm not afraid."

There was a cry of rage, followed by a loud choking noise. _Damn it,_ thought Arno. If he didn't act now, they would lose their only lead! He ran out of the alleyway and drove his hidden blade through the back of the radical's chest as he held LeFou off the ground by his neck. The extremist immediately crumpled to the ground, followed by the little man, struggling to catch his breath.

"Monsieur LeFou?" Arno asked, looking down at him inquisitively.

LeFou looked back at the Assassin with terrified, bloodshot eyes. "Uh oh. Not again," he whimpered. "HELP! Assassin! Murder!"

He stumbled down the street, just as Prince Adam emerged from the alleyway in a fury. "Oh no you don't," he growled next to Arno. "I haven't come this far to let my best lead run off on me!"

With that, he chased after the drunken man. Arno had just enough time to catch up to the two before the Prince tackled LeFou to the ground.

"Tell me where my family is. NOW!" he demanded, lifting his fist menacingly.

"Allow me, your majesty," Arno intervened.

For a moment, Prince Adam was furious that Arno had interrupted him. This was his family after all, and he deserved his answers! But then, realizing he could get a better response from someone who was more level headed than he was, he allowed Arno to take his place. The Assassin knelt beside LeFou.

"Where is Gaston Légume?" he asked him firmly.

LeFou's face turned as white as a sheet. "I-I dunno, honest!" he stammered. "I just watch his tavern while he's out huntin'. I haven' seen him since last night, I swear!"

"You're _sure_ you don't know where he's gone?" He showed LeFou his hidden blade, which was still stained with the blood of the man he'd just killed.

LeFou's eyes widened in horror. "Okay, OKAY!" he exclaimed. "Whoa, get that thing away from me! There's a huntin' lodge he's been buildin' in the woods. Said he was gonna propose to Princess Belle there."

"Where is this hunting lodge?"

"I-I dunno!" he squeaked. "He never told me. But he keeps all his plans locked up in his office in the tavern. That's all I know, honest!"

The Assassin retracted his blade and lowered his arm. "Thank you."

LeFou nodded, then his eyes rolled back into his head in a dead faint. _Poor little man,_ thought Arno. For his own sanity, perhaps it was better he didn't remember this conversation.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?" Adam asked.

"I can't say for certain." Arno searched through the front pockets of LeFou's jacket before finding the keys to the tavern. "But we're about to find out."

* * *

The tavern was completely empty, as it would be, given that it wouldn't be open for another five hours. Above the fireplace on the far side of the room were several heads of animals the hunter had killed over the years. Their eyes stared lifelessly down at the Prince, sending an unpleasant chill down his spine. _To think, if Gaston had killed me that night on the tower, that could have been my head up there, too!_

Eager to move on, he followed Arno up a flight of stairs, to the tavern's second floor. Thankfully, this floor was not as ornate as the main floor. On the contrary, it was a simple hallway lined with identical wooden doors, all locked shut.

"Which one do you think is his study?" he asked Arno.

The Assassin studied the doors intensely for a moment. "This one," he said finally, gesturing to the third door down the hall.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

He took out LeFou's keys again and placed one into the keyhole. Sure enough, the door unlocked, opening into a small bureau containing a desk cluttered with papers, a fireplace and an armchair. On the armchair, covered in a leather sheath, was a sword. Adam lifted an eyebrow curiously. He couldn't picture a brawny man like Gaston taking on fencing as a leisure activity. But after everything else that had happened today, he supposed he could believe in _anything,_ really.

As Arno went to examine the papers on the desk, Adam inspected the sword. Unsheathing it, he saw that it was an officer's sabre of a light and even weight.

"That's a nice sword," Arno said from across the room. "Perhaps you should hold on to it."

The Prince looked up in embarrassment. "I don't steal," he said defensively, slipping it back into its sheath.

"He stole your family," Arno pointed out. "Seems like a token thing to take in comparison. And where we have to go next, it might not be a bad idea to arm yourself."

Adam's eyes widened in surprise. "You found where they are already?"

"Yes," Arno confirmed, "but getting to them will be no picnic." He showed him one of the maps on the desk. "According to these markings, Gaston's stationed guards all around the perimeter of this 'hunting lodge' he's built in the woods."

"What?"

"I suppose he expected your wife would make a run for it. Or that someone would try to come for her."

 _For Belle's sake, I hope she doesn't try to get out of there herself,_ thought Adam, biting his lip. _She could get hurt, or worst, killed!_ "Well how far away is it?"

"An hour if we're quick. It's deep in the forest, miles away from the village."

The Prince clenched his fists in frustration. A lot of things could happen to Belle and Julien in an hour, if they hadn't happened already. _But now's not the time to lose your temper,_ he reminded himself. _You know where they are now, you just have to get there._ "Then we have no time to lose," he said aloud. He picked up Gaston's sword and strapped it to his belt.

But before he could exit the bureau, a "thump" noise coming from the hall stopped him in their tracks. Somebody was coming up the stairs and they were heading towards the study.

"Get down, your majesty," Arno commanded.

Adam quickly ducked beside the desk as Arno drew out his sword and opened the door.

" _En g-garde, monsieur!"_ a man with a British accent stammered through the threshold. "We d-demand that you release his majesty at once!"

 _"Oui,"_ a second voice added. "If you do not un-unhand him, the c-consequences will be most severe!"

Arno sighed. "Are these friends of yours, your majesty?" he asked, turning back to the Prince.

Curiously, Adam looked behind the desk. The intruders were none other than his maître d' and majordomo, Lumière and Cogsworth. Both were holding a smashed glass bottle and a brass candelabrum as makeshift weapons.

"Lumière, Cogsworth!" he said, rising to meet them. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Looking for you and Mistress Belle, of course!" Cogsworth replied. "We saw this man taking you into the tavern and thought he was trying to hold you hostage!"

"It's alright, Arno," Adam added to the Assassin, "They can come in."

Arno obligingly lowered his sword, allowing the two servants to enter the room.

"Master, what's going on?" Lumière continued with his brows raised. "Everyone's been so worried. And Master Julien –"

"Julien!" Adam exclaimed. "You've seen him? Where is he? Is he alright?"

"He's _safe,_ master," Cogsworth confirmed. "Chip, bless his soul, got him out of his chambers just before the radicals broke in. He's hiding out in Pithiviers, along with your father-in-law, Mrs. Potts, Chip and all the staff we gathered after the attack. We stayed behind to find you and the mistress so we could take you to him."

" _Dieu merci,"_ Adam muttered. "Where in Pithiviers is he staying?"

"They're all staying with Babette's sister, Jeanne," Lumière replied. "She runs a brothel in the city called _La Maison de Mille Trésors…"_

"WHAT?! You sent my son to a brothel?"

"Yes sire, but it's a very… exclusive brothel," Cogsworth replied nervously. "She gave us rooms that are far away from her clients. He won't be exposed to any of that… that riffraff."

The Prince rubbed his forehead uncomfortably. Exclusive rooms or not, knowing that his son was staying in a brothel did not make him feel much better about their situation. _But he's hidden. That's the important thing._ "Go meet up with the others in Pithiviers," he ordered. "Arno and I will find Belle, and then head to the city to look for you."

"Absolutely not, sire!" Lumière refuted. "We're coming with you!"

"You're our master," Cogsworth agreed. "Our duty is to protect you and the mistress from peril."

"But someone needs to look after my son," Adam argued. "Gaston's already tried to send a mercenary out to find him, and I doubt it was for a good reason. He has to be protected at all costs."

"But master, what about _you?_ Are you really comfortable looking for Belle with this –this ruffian?" Cogsworth, said, gesturing to Arno suspiciously. "He looks like he has enough weapons on him to take on an army!"

Arno shot Cogsworth a dirty look. Not wanting to start a quarrel where it wasn't needed, Adam took his servants to the side of the room where he could talk to them in private.

"It's not that I trust him," he explained to Cogsworth. "He saved my life. And he – or at least the people he works for – have information about my father. And I'd like to know what it is."

"Master, we're in the midst of a revolution here. Now isn't the time to –"

"Cogsworth, have a heart," Lumière said. He gave his master a sympathetic look. "He hasn't seen or spoken to his father in nearly fifteen years. At least give him the chance to find some closure. We can trust Jeanne. The mistress and the young Prince will be safe as long as they stay together in the brothel."

Cogsworth looked between Lumière and the Prince for a moment before sighing in defeat. "Very well. But you sir!" he snapped back at Arno. "If you so much as lay a _finger_ on their majesties, you will have to answer to us!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Arno replied dryly. He had better things to do anyway.

* * *

Once Arno and Adam had finished investigating Gaston's bureau, they accompanied the servants out the tavern's back door, where they'd be less likely to be seen by the villagers. As Lumière and Cogsworth went to arrange their transportation to Pithiviers, Adam and Arno returned to the bookstore to retrieve their horse. Along the way, Adam pondered over his decision to stay with Arno, rather than go straight to the city to see his son. He knew he didn't regret his choice, but that still didn't negate the fact that he was taking a risk, confronting Gaston and his army of Templars, and going to Paris with a man he barely knew.

"Maybe Cogsworth's right," he said to Arno as he untethered their horse's reins. "Maybe I shouldn't be chasing the past like this. I've spent over a decade hating my father for abandoning me. And now I get some letter telling me he was involved in a top-secret transaction just before he died? Why should I care what happened to him? It's completely absurd."

"I think it makes perfect sense, actually," Arno replied.

Adam looked back at him curiously. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, fathers aren't exactly dispensable. They're a crucial part of who we are. I'd give the world to see my father again if I had the chance."

"What happened to your father, if I may ask?"

"He died when I was eight," Arno answered. His voice had a tinge of sadness to it, as though he'd been bottling this fact for a long time. "It was December and he'd taken me to the Palace of Versailles to meet with someone. Told me to sit in the corridor and wait for him to return. But I didn't. I was too restless. I ran off to play with a girl I saw wandering through the palace. And when I came back..." he lowered his head shamefully, "he was lying on the floor with a wound to the chest, dead. No one knew who the murderer was. There were no witnesses."

"I'm sorry," Adam said pityingly. Having had his own share of traumatic experiences as a child, he could certainly empathize. "That must have been terrible to witness, especially at such a young age."

"It was a long time ago," Arno replied dismissively. "But for years afterward, I thought it was _my_ fault my father died. I thought that if I hadn't disobeyed him, if I'd waited for him like I was supposed to, he'd still be alive. So... I know what a burden it is to make a mistake and desperately want to fix it. And how sometimes, the only way to move on is to seek closure."

"That's… not exactly how I felt about father," Adam confessed. "I wasn't guilty about his death at all when I first found out. I thought he'd did it on purpose, because he'd learned about my – because he was ashamed of me. It wasn't until a few years ago, when my own son was born… that I realized, I didn't know anything about raising a child. And I wondered if he'd felt the same. Maybe he was afraid, and I didn't give him enough credit."

"I see." Arno nodded in understanding. "Well, perhaps we ought to get moving. The sooner we rescue your wife, the sooner you'll be to closer to finding those answers."

The Prince agreed. Saving Belle was still his top priority. She was the one who'd taught him how to love, how to forgive. Without her, he wouldn't be having this conversation with Arno right now.

Adam may never have the chance to reconcile with his father. But he could still find out where he'd gone the night he died. And for now, that was good enough for him.


	8. Hollow Victory

The paths through the woods were winding and narrow, the trees enclosing them from both sides. It didn't take long for Adam and Arno to track down the telltale markings of a wagon that had passed by not too long ago. They followed the trail for fifteen, twenty minutes, half-an hour. The branches cut across Adam's face and arms, but he didn't care. All he could think about was Belle; what was happening to her, if she could hold out for just a bit longer. He knew he would stop at nothing until she was safe.

At last, the woods began to thin out. The Prince realized that this was because several of the trees had been cut away, as though someone had been doing some work to the area.

They ventured further into the woods until the ground sloped into a small valley. It was down there that Adam saw movement. Armed men in brown and red uniforms like his walked among the trees.

"I guess this is the place," Arno remarked.

"It would seem so," the Prince replied uneasily.

They dismounted their horse, staying low to the ground as they descended the slope, not wanting to draw unwanted attention. Arno skillfully guided the Prince behind rocks, trees and logs, only stopping him once to take down a guard who was blocking the way to the cabin. Adam felt a shiver run down his spine as he watched Arno drag the body into the underbrush. He was starting to become unnerved at exactly how discretely Arno had killed all the men they'd faced so far. Almost as though he were _trained_ to do it.

But he made no comment as they crept further through the underbrush, to the far recesses the woods. Past a ring of trees was what appeared to be the front end of a log cabin with a veranda porch.

"That must be where's he's keeping her," Adam mused.

"Yes," Arno replied. "Quite an impressive fortress he's built for himself."

Adam nodded in agreement. A large, two story hunting lodge was exactly what Gaston needed to house his gigantic ego. He couldn't wait to see the look on his face when they broke in. "Let's get him," he said with determination.

"Wait!"

He felt a sharp tug on his arm as Arno pulled him back behind the tree. "What are you doing?" he hissed sharply.

Arno put a finger to his mouth. "Look," he said, motioning to the clearing.

Adam looked back behind the tree, and his anger turned to realization. In his haste to get to Belle, he hadn't realized what they were up against. Two snipers stood on the roof of Gaston's cabin, distracted by a conversation they were having, but it made no difference. There was no cover in the clearing between the woods and Gaston's hunting lodge. All Adam would have to do was take one misstep, step on one twig, and he'd be dead.

 _"Merde,"_ he cursed, turning back to Arno. "How in blazes do we get past them?"

"The way I see it, we have two options," Arno replied calmly. "Number one, we take them out, potentially attracting all the other extremists in the area. Number two, we aim for a diversion."

"A diversion?"

"You're wearing their uniform," he elaborated, gesturing at Adam's clothes. "They may not let me in, dressed as I am but they might if they see me with you."

The Prince's eyes widened in realization. He was right.

Five minutes later, Arno and Adam exited the clearing, Adam holding Arno's pistol to his temple as he marched him up to the front of the house. _Please let this work._ Like Arno, he would rather avoid a confrontation, especially after the bloody mess he'd witnessed back at the castle.

Seeing the men approach the cottage, the snipers immediately turned around, weapons raised. "Halt! Who goes there?"

"I'm uh… taking this man inside to see the big man," Adam replied in an accent that he hoped would not betray his aristocratic background. "Found him lurking about in the area. Looks like he might be a counter-revolutionary spy."

The two guards looked over Arno suspiciously. Gaston had hired them to look out for intruders, and a hooded man definitely didn't have any business in a place like this.

"Very well. Go inside. He'll be in the —"

"Wait, Yves!" the second guard interrupted. "Something doesn't feel right."

"What do you mean?"

"I've never seen you before," he gestured to Adam. "What's your name, _asticot?"_

Adam sensed movement in his peripheral vision. He turned to see that two guards had appeared behind him, also bearing muskets. Where on the earth did they come from?

"It's umm…"

"Oh, for God's sake," Arno muttered.

He stepped on the Prince's foot hard, causing him to yell out in pain and loosen his grip on the Assassin. Arno grabbed the pistol from the Prince and fired two shots at the snipers on the roof. In a matter seconds, they were dead.

The other guards covered their ears from the sudden blast of Arno's pistol. It gave the Assassin ample time to relay his instructions to the Prince.

"You take the one on the right, I'll take the left,"

"What? And who's protecting who here?!" said Adam.

Arno said nothing, only drew his sword and advanced at the left soldier. This left Adam to face the right one: a large man with a balding head. He lunged at Adam, but the Prince quickly parried his sword with a thrust of his wrist followed by a riposte. The guard then attempted to lunge at his torso from several different angles, but Adam blocked every single time. Despite his large size and aggressiveness, Adam could sense the man was not as intimidating as he let on. The hours he'd spent patrolling Gaston's house had clearly not prepared him to fight a man who knew how to use a sword.

Finally, the Prince saw a quick opportunity as the guard thrust his sword towards his stomach. Adam turned his blade upwards with his wrist, then in a small clockwise semicircle motion, swept it under the guard's blade and drove it straight into his chest. The bald man stopped his attack, stunned by the revelation that he'd been stabbed. Then, with a small whimper of pain, he crumpled the ground.

After that, everything became a blur to Adam. He was no longer a prince, obsessed with propriety and human courtesy. He was the Beast, and all that mattered to him was clearing out his opponents as quickly as possible. Other guards, hearing the scuffle, charged forward to replace their fallen men, and he finished them off one by one, lost in a methodical rhythm of thrusting, dodging, parrying, disengaging, finding whatever opening he needed to deliver that killing blow. There was no time to think rationally when his wife's life was at stake.

Then, out of nowhere, a wild-eyed guard charged at him. Adam only had a moment to raise his sword before a gunshot sounded from beside the attacker. The Prince flinched. When he looked up again, the guard's face was covered in blood. He fell to the ground soundlessly. Behind him stood Arno, lowering his smoking pistol from his hand.

"Nice work, your majesty."

The Prince sheathed his sword. With no more guards to attack him, he was suddenly very aware of how many bodies were lying on the ground.

"I killed them," he said, shaking in disbelief. "All of them."

"You did what you had to," Arno replied. "They would have killed you if you didn't."

"Do you think that's the last of them?"

"You and I are the only ones standing, your highness."

"Good." That was all he wanted to hear right now.

They both approached the house, Adam immediately averting his eyes from the heap of bodies lying on the roof. Once they crossed the porch, Arno fidgeted with the door before Adam grew impatient and kicked it open himself. He stepped into a dimly lit foyer area, supported by wooden beams and walls. A stairwell led to the second floor, and there were doors on either side of the foyer.

"Belle?" he called, pacing the floor frantically. "Belle? Are you here?" _Please God, let her be here, and let her be alive!_

He couldn't believe his ears when he heard a woman cry out through the wall on his left. A cry he would know anywhere. "Adam? Is that you?"

"Belle!" He whipped his head around, trying to follow her voice. "Yes, it's me! Where are you?"

"In the parlour!" she shouted back. "Gaston tied me up. He—"

But the rest of her sentence was cut off by a muffled scream. Adam's blood went cold with fear. "Hang on, Belle! I'm coming!"

Still unsure of where she was, he opened the door closest to him and stepped inside, Arno following closely behind. Thankfully, his first guess was the right one.

Belle was sitting in a chair in the middle of a large parlour, her arms bound together with rope and a gag covering her mouth. To say she was a mess would be an understatement. Her brown hair, which was usually sleek and clean was strewn messily over her shoulders. Her eyes were red, puffy and gleamed with emotion as she gazed at her husband. Adam wanted to run to her right then and there, except for one problem. Gaston was standing next to her, armed with a pistol in hand.

"Well, well, well. Look who's here," he taunted. "I expected there'd be someone stupid enough to try and take the Princess from me. I just didn't think it would be you two." He pointed at Adam accusingly. "You're supposed to be dead. And you…" He pointed at Arno. "You were supposed to stay in the tavern until I came back to finish you off myself."

 _"Je m'excuse, Monsieur,"_ Arno replied sarcastically. "But I'm afraid dying is not in our itinerary at the moment."

"For God's sake, let Belle go!" Adam shouted. He couldn't bear to see his wife imprisoned in such a degrading way, unable to talk, much less breathe.

Gaston laughed. "And why would I want to do that, Beastie? Belle is mine now. I can do whatever I want with her. And if that means keeping her tied up so she'll be safe from monsters like you, so be it."

"Enough with your nonsense!" Adam shouted in frustration. "All your men are down. You have nowhere to go."

"Correction: _You_ have nowhere to go," Gaston replied. "You see; Belle has agreed to start a new life with me. The life we were meant to start six years ago. And this time, I won't let anyone, man or animal, interfere. D'Arque may have failed to carry out your execution, but I'll be more than glad to finish the job."

Belle screamed again as Gaston aimed his pistol at her husband. Before he could pull the trigger however, Arno sprang into action. In a gesture that was almost too fast for Adam, Belle or Gaston to see, he extended his right arm and released something from the underside of his gauntlet. Moments later, a silver blur went flying across the room, striking Gaston in the back of his hand.

"Ow!" the hunter cried in pain. His firearm fell to the floor and slid to the far corner of the room. Holding up his hand, he saw that it was drenched in blood. The Assassin had thrown some sort of knife at him, slicing open the skin below his knuckles. "Damn you, Assassin!"

Now that the hunter was unarmed, Adam and Arno drew their weapons and advanced towards him. Gaston frantically fumbled through his pockets, trying to find a dagger, pistol, anything! – to keep them at bay, but came up empty. _Diable._ This wasn't how it was supposed to go at all! He was supposed to best the Beast, to prove to Belle and the Order that he was unstoppable, not lose because he'd overestimated his defenses and forgot to properly arm himself.

But Adam and the Assassin were coming closer and no one was coming to Gaston's aid. In a moment of desperation, he turned back to his fiancée. It was either him or her now.

 _But do you really need her_? The question momentarily puzzled the hunter. Of course, he did! For over five years, he'd been plotting and dreaming of the day when he would finally make Belle his. No one else was worthy enough to be his wife. But then, he remembered what D'Arque had told him about the Templars' unlimited resources and their promise to give him whatever he wanted as long as he proved his loyalty. Who was to say that they couldn't find him a wife even more beautiful than Belle, one who would be submissive, compliant, and perfect for fulfilling his every desire? Belle and her husband would go free yes, but it wouldn't be for long. At some point the Templars would find them, kill them and then Gaston would truly be the victor. _Yes,_ he thought triumphantly. Prince Adam may have won Belle back today, but he hadn't won the war. Not by a long shot.

With renewed confidence, he drew a stun grenade out from his pocket – the only item he had left from M. D'Arque - and tossed it to the ground.

Immediately, the room exploded into a burst of light. Adam shielded his eyes, but the damage was already done. He couldn't see a thing. From somewhere in the distance he heard Gaston's laughter and hurried footsteps, but the loud ringing in his ears prevented him from determining where he was.

"Come back here and fight!" he shouted into the fog.

"Another time Prince Adam, another time," Gaston replied distantly. "Enjoy your victory for today, but I'll be back for you. And when I do... you'll wish you were never born!"

The light began to dim slightly, just enough for Adam to see Gaston's silhouette rush through a door on his right. He rushed to pursue him, but a strong arm held him back.

"Let him go, your majesty," Arno spoke into his ear. "He's not worth the trouble."

"What?" Adam turned to him in outrage. "But he's right there! We can stop him!"

"I know. But this isn't the right time. He _will_ be punished, but not today."

Of course, Arno understood why the Prince wanted to pursue Gaston. But he couldn't let him finish him off, not yet. He'd learned the hard way of what happened when he let a target die without the Council's blessing. As dangerous and twisted as their hunter was, they had to investigate his connection to the Templars _before_ deciding his fate. That was the way of the Assassin Order.

As the effects of the grenade subsided, so did Adam's temper. Maybe Arno was right. He had come here to rescue his wife, not exact revenge on the man who had taken her from him. As much as he wanted to see Gaston suffer, letting him go was the better thing to do. The _human_ thing to do.

"Mmm!" Belle shrieked, reminding Adam she was still tied up. She dragged her chair forward, falling to the floor in the process.

Immediately, Adam and Arno ran to her aid. Adam untied the gag from her mouth as Arno cut her bindings to the chair.

Once she was free, Belle flung herself at Adam so violently, he nearly fell on his back from the impact. He quickly wrapped his own arms around her to support them as they sat on the floor.

"I thought you were dead," she whispered as she pressed her head against his chest, trembling. "I was so stupid. I shouldn't have believed – "

"Shhh," he replied, gently stroking her hair. "It's alright. Gaston tricked you. It wasn't your fault." He loosened his hold on her and looked her straight in the eyes. "Did he… hurt you?"

Belle shook her head. "He asked me to marry him again. Told me he would kill Julien if I didn't consent. He wanted me to…" She lowered her gaze and shuddered. "Adam, our son is missing. Gaston sent someone to look for him, but I don't know if –"

"He's not missing," Adam assured her. "He's safe, hidden with the servants and your father in Pithiviers."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "All the way in Pithiviers? How do you know?"

"I ran into Lumière and Cogsworth on the way here. They told me everything, including where they've taken him."

 _"Dieu merci."_ She sighed in relief. Her worst fears hadn't been realized. Her baby was safe. "Then we need to go to him right now," she continued. "He must be worried sick about us!"

"I know. And we will. But I want to make sure you're alright, first."

For a moment, Belle wanted to dismiss Adam's worries, instead focusing her energies on reaching Julien. But her husband's knowing blue eyes said otherwise. Adam always knew when something was troubling his wife, even when she didn't want to admit it. She lowered her head self-consciously.

"I was so scared, Adam," she confessed as he took her hands in his. "After everything that happened at the castle, and what Gaston told me, I thought I'd never see you again."

"Belle, it would take more than a prison cell and an army of revolutionists to stop me from getting to you," Adam replied. "I'm just sorry I couldn't have gotten here sooner. What Gaston tried to do to you… that's simply unforgivable."

"Well you're here now. That matters more to me than all the books in the world."

They embraced each other again, Belle wrapping her arms tightly around her husband like she'd never let go. Since she'd woken up, she'd been swept from one nightmare after the next. The warmth of Adam's very much alive body and the assurance that her son was alive and safe was exactly what she needed to feel and hear right now.

"Ahem," a voice said, bringing the couple back to the present. Adam turned around. In his haste to reunite with his wife, he'd almost forgot about Arno. He stood up promptly and helped Belle to her feet.

"Belle, this is Arno Dorian," he said, gesturing to their hooded ally. "He's the man who got me out of prison and helped me rescue you."

Belle lowered herself into a curtsey. "You've done me and my husband a great kindness, Monsieur Dorian. How can we ever repay you?"

"No need for compensation, your highness," Arno replied dismissively. "Your husband has already seen to that."

"You have?" Belle turned to Adam inquisitively.

"Arno is taking me to Paris to meet with an associate of his," Adam explained. "Someone who has information about my father."

"Paris?" She raised a brow worryingly. "But Adam, it's dangerous there! You've seen the stories in the newspapers. If anyone there recognizes you, they'll kill you!"

"I'm not going alone, Belle," Adam replied stubbornly. "I do have a bodyguard."

"Your husband will be in good hands, your majesty," Arno said assuredly. "You have my word."

Belle opened her mouth, wanting to debate the matter, but was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. The three turned around, stunned to see the blonde triplets enter the room. They were moving slowly due to Marie-Paule, who was slumped semi-consciously between her sisters and moaning softly to herself.

"Oh, those poor men. So much blood. So many bodies!"

"It's alright, sis," Marie-Laura said, patting her on the shoulder. "There are no bodies here, see? You're all right now."

"Belle… I mean, Princess!" Marie-Claudia said, trying to draw attention away from their nauseous sibling. "We're _so so so sorry_ that Gaston did those terrible things to you and your husband. We never knew he'd take it that far!"

"We saw Gaston leaving the cabin and came to offer you our assistance," added Marie-Laura. "We want to help you escape. If there's anything you need, just let us know!"

"You could start by finding some decent attire for my wife," said the Prince. "We're going to be on the road for a while, and would prefer not to draw attention to ourselves."

Marie-Claudia and Marie-Laura looked at each other, thinking. Then, Marie-Laura snapped her fingers.

"Change into my dress, Princess," she said, gesturing to herself. "It's comfortable and plain-looking and shouldn't give you any trouble on the road."

Belle looked at Marie-Laura's amber dress and wished she could decline. She'd never been close with Marie-Laura or her sisters, and knew she'd be uncomfortable showing that much of her shoulders and cleavage without a proper occasion. But beggars couldn't be choosers. And the triplets did seem genuine about wanting to help her, something she couldn't say about the townsmen who'd attacked her home last night. This could be her only chance to escape. "All right," she replied.

"Belle, what are you thinking?" Adam said, holding her back. "That's a tavern wench's dress! If you wear that, people will think-"

"—whatever they want to think. It's just a dress, Adam. Unless you see a fairy godmother around here, it may be our best option. Our son is waiting for us. We have to go."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Belle, Adam and Arno left Gaston's house, not sorry at all to leave after everything they'd been through. Adam looked out to the trees as they crossed the porch, half-expecting Gaston to jump out with a last-minute ambush, but there was no one. He was gone, and it was all because of him.

At the back of the house, Arno found a pen with an unattended horse, likely left behind by Gaston or one of his guards. He offered it up to the Prince and Princess so they could ride to Pithiviers together.

While Belle had stood firm in her decision to change into Marie-Laura's dress in the cabin, she found herself regretting the choice as she mounted the stolen horse with her husband. Even though Marie-Laura's dress was not as conspicuous as her nightgown, it was too big for her in the bosom area, and the sleeves kept off her shoulders, no matter how many times she tried to keep them up. Seeing her discomfort, Adam took off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

"You should rest," he whispered in her ear. "It will be a while before we reach the city."

"I'll sleep after I see Julien," she replied stubbornly. "I just can't believe it. We've lost everything. Our home, my books, the ballroom. And the mirror –," She turned back her husband, eyes wide with terror. "Adam, they took it, didn't they?"

"Yes. But I took it back."

"You did?"

He quickly explained what had happened after he'd regained consciousness. Waking up in the _Maison des Lunes_ and meeting Monsieur D'Arque, who'd intended to transport him to Paris to be executed. The asylum keeper's ominous speech about the Templars, and the box he'd nearly opened before Arno had killed him. He then told Belle how he'd recovered the mirror from D'Arque's body just before he escaped, hiding it in a rag underneath his clothing.

"I don't know who D'Arque was holding it for, or what he was planning to do with it," he concluded. "I just know that it was for something bad. Something that would have put us all in danger."

"I'm so sorry, Adam," Belle apologized. "There were so many times when you asked me to forget about the mirror and I should have listened. I spent so long trying to find out what its purpose was, it never even occurred to me that other people might be looking for it, too. All of this could have been avoided... if I hadn't been so selfish."

"It wasn't your fault, Belle. Nobody knew this would happen. The point is, the Templars _didn't_ get the mirror. And now that we know they're looking for it, we'll just find a safer place to hide it."

"You're right," she agreed, folding her arms over her chest. Finding a new home for the mirror was the best option at this point.

As the two of them followed Arno into the woods to retrieve his own horse, Belle continued, "So you really want to go with Arno to Paris?"

Adam nodded. "We made a deal. I'd come back to Paris with him on the condition that he help me rescue you. I know my father may not mean much to you, Belle, but he's been on my mind almost for as long as I've been… " He paused, worried Arno might overhear him, "as long as I've been _abroad._ I need to know what happened to him."

"I understand." Five years ago, Belle had felt the same way about wanting to see her Papa. Of course she couldn't blame Adam for wanting to find closure on his father's death. She just wished he could do it under _safer_ circumstances.

"I would come with you, but I don't want to leave Julien by himself," she continued decisively. "But that doesn't mean I'm letting you off easy. If I don't hear from you within a week, I'll go to Paris and look for you myself."

"I _am_ coming back, Belle. And when I do, we're all going to leave France as soon as possible."

"London is still the plan?"

"London is still the plan. We'd be living in a death trap if we stayed here. We may have had Arno to save us today, but we may not be as lucky next time."

"I just wish it didn't have to be this way," Belle lamented. "As a child, I'd always hear my neighbours talking about how unfairly the king was taxing them, but I never imagined it would come to this. Citizens cutting off people's heads in Paris, secret societies trying to take over the world..."

"I know. But we can still be grateful for what we have. If there's one thing that will help me sleep tonight, it's knowing that the two most important things in my life weren't taken from me."

As Arno listened to Prince Adam and Princess Belle's conversation, he felt both sad and remorseful. Until now, it was easy for him to dehumanize the French aristocrats, believing that they were the main reason for the people's unhappiness. They were so disconnected from the poverty in the streets, whenever he saw civilians raiding their apartments or overturning their carriages in Paris, he often felt a sense of satisfaction, knowing that they were finally getting a taste of their own medicine. But now, he realized how narrow-minded he'd been. Not all aristocrats were greedy, corrupt fiends, just like not all Assassins were good or all Templars were evil. The world was full of ambiguities, and like Élise had once said, "There are shades of grey in every good story."


	9. Blowing in the Wind

Hours passed. Although Adam was tired beyond reason, his troubled mind refused to let him sleep. The more he reflected on the day's events, the harder they were to believe. The castle; his prison for ten years, and his home for five years more, was no more. He was no longer the Prince of a minor French municipality, but a fugitive on the run from his own people. And not just him — his wife and son were wanted, too. A foreboding sense of dread crept over him, knowing things could only get worse from here, and were irreversible. His only relief was in knowing that Belle was safe, as was Julien, who he would be seeing very soon.

It was nearly noon by the time Adam, Arno and Belle reached the town of Pithiviers. The city was considerably larger and more populous than Villeneuve, which was fortunate for the royal couple, as citizens barely looked at them as they crossed the main street. Once he was sure that no one was following them, Arno focused on finding the brothel that Lumière had mentioned back in Gaston's tavern. He found a boy dressed in rags sitting on the side of the street and decided to probe him for directions.

"You there, boy," he called out to him. "How well do you know this city?"

"Well enough," the boy replied, genuinely surprised to know that someone wanted to talk to him. "Whatcha looking for?"

"The  _Maison de Mille Trésors._ Ever heard of it?"

"The Maison that's run by Madame Plumeau?" The boy raised an eyebrow curiously. "Yeah, I've heard of it. It's on Rue Cansec. I'd show you the way, but it'll cost you."

Arno barely blinked as he tossed some coins at the boy's feet. "Consider that a down payment. I'll give you the rest when we get there."

The boy gathered the coins, examined them earnestly, then looked back up at Arno. "You've got yourself a deal, monsieur!"

And now they were following the boy through the streets, to the brothel that was hiding Julien and the rest of the royal servants. Adam, who was unfamiliar with Pithiviers from the few times he’d visited in the past, only suspected they were getting closer when he noticed an increasing number of women in feathered hats and low cut dresses standing around the street corners. One of them even exposed her bare leg to a man as he passed them, causing Adam to jerk his head in the opposite direction.

 _Good Lord, I hope Julien didn't see these women on the way here!_ he thought to himself worryingly. He vowed to find a safer home for his son as soon as possible.

At long last, the three travellers arrived at their destination; a stately four-story building with a sign hanging from its front door that read:  _"La Maison de Mille Trésors."_ The brothel was adorned with bright red ribbons and flowerbeds on every windowsill – a clever ploy to hide the immoral acts that went on inside. Satisfied that they were in the right place, Arno handed the rest of the money to their escort and they dismounted their horses.

Belle could barely contain her excitement as they approached the entrance to the brothel. For hours she'd been in the dark, not knowing where her son was, or if he was even alive. Now she was only moments away from reaching him. Her hands were itching to hug him, kiss him on the forehead, tell him how much she loved and missed him...

Arno knocked on the door. Moments later, a woman who looked like a taller and more voluptuous version of Babette came to his answer.

"Well, well, well. It's not every day that a couple of disguised vagabonds come knocking on my brothel door," the woman said, addressing Belle and Adam knowingly. "You must be their majesties, Prince Adam and Princess Belle. And you must be their Assassin bodyguard."

 _"'Assassin?'"_  Adam turned to Arno suspiciously. "Is that what they call you?"

Arno ignored the Prince's question. "How do you know who I am?" he asked the woman warily.

"Oh, do relax! You have nothing to fear from me, Assassin," Babette's sister replied. "Based on Lumière's description of your appearance, I had a pretty good idea of who you were. The Assassins of Pithiviers are our allies here. My girls give them information necessary to carry out their missions, and in return, they offer them protection from some of our… less-than-pleasant clients. We've been working with them for years."

She turned her head as a middle-aged man with deep-set gray eyes appeared behind her, wearing a hooded tailcoat like Arno's. "Welcome to Pithiviers, your majesties," he said to Belle and Adam with a small bow. "I am Jean-Claude Montagne, leader of the Assassin bureau here in the city. I heard about what happened at the castle from your servants and am deeply sorry. Rest assured, my brothers and I will do everything we can to ensure your protection during your stay here."

"Thank you for your aid, Monsieur Montagne," Belle said graciously. "It means a great deal to both us."

"And where are  _my_  manners?" Babette's sister continued. "I am Jeanne Plumeau; sister of Babette, though I'm known better in these parts as Madame Plumeau. I'm responsible for managing the girls who work in this establishment."

" _Enchanté,_  Madame," said Adam. "Lumière said that we could find our son here. Is there a way you could bring us to him?"

"But of course! Heaven knows that little boy is dying to see you," Jeanne replied. "If you would like to stay in the tavern for a moment, Assassin, I will bring their majesties to their son straight away."

"It's not like I have anywhere else to be," Arno agreed with a shrug.

As Arno stayed downstairs to talk with Jean-Claude, Jeanne led Belle and Adam upstairs, to the top floor of the brothel. Compared to the rest of the house, this floor was quiet and empty. The landing led out to a simple hallway, lined with a long, faded carpet. On the left side were three identical panelled doors, while on the right were three sets of windows that overlooked the street below.

"We let these rooms out to our wealthier clients," Jeanne explained to the intrigued prince and princess. "Only most of them have left the country, as you can well imagine. Which is fortunate for you, because we wouldn't have a place to hide you otherwise."

They continued to follow the Madame to the third door down the hall, which she knocked on swiftly before unlocking and opening. Inside was a spacious and handsomely furnished bedchamber that had clearly been designed for the aristocracy. On the left was a large bed dressed with silk maroon sheets and across the room, a vanity desk made of ebony wood. Beside that, sitting in an armchair was none other than Maurice, and — Belle thought she was going to have a heart attack —  _Julien!_

It only took a second for the boy to turn around and see who had entered the room. His expression conveyed pure shock for a moment, and then he broke out into a huge smile. "Maman! Papa!"

In an instant, he leapt from his grandfather's lap, on to the floor. Another second and he was wrapping his arms tightly around his father's legs.

"I missed you!" he cried, voice slightly muffled as he buried his face in Adam’s knees.

"We missed you too,  _petit,"_  Adam replied, almost too choked up to speak. "How are you?"

"Good," the young Prince responded. "Papi's telling a story. 'Bout one of his  _indayshuns."_

"I think the word you mean, Julien, is  _inventions,"_  Belle corrected, looking at her son as though she would never tire of looking at him.

" _In-vay… in-va… in-ven-shuns,"_  Julien repeated diligently.

"Very good."

"Well if all's well here, your majesties, I'll leave you to catch up," Jeanne called from the door. "If you need anything, send Babette down to see me. She's next door… with Lumière." She winked suggestively, then exited the room.

"We go home now?" Julien continued once the Madame had closed the door. "I want my toys!"

At his question, Adam exchanged an uneasy glance with Belle. They'd been so focused on reaching Julien, they hadn't thought about what they would say to him they'd reunited. Now that they had, he wished they'd had more time to plan their words.

"Julien," Belle began as she knelt on the floor to face him better, "did Chip explain to you why we had to leave the castle?"

Julien shook his head. "He woken me up. And… and said 'no talking' and 'hold my hand or de bad people catch us.' Den… den… we goed outside, and gotten in a wagon with Papi and Miss Potts. And dey said everyone… everyone was playing a game. But you was coming later, so we went first. It was dark and scary. But Miss Potts telled me to close my eyes. And when I opened dem, I was here!"

"It sounds like you were a very brave boy, Julien," Belle said, smoothing his hair lovingly. "I'm proud of you for listening to Chip and Mrs. Potts. That was very good of you."

Julien smiled proudly. "So  _now_  we go home? I winned de game."

"Well—"

"—the truth is, Julien," Adam interrupted, "this isn't just a game. There are real people who are after us. Bad people, who want to hurt us. And that's we have to stay here until they're gone. To be safe."

Julien frowned. "We don't go home? 'Cause of bad people?"

"Yes, Julien. We can't go home. Not yet."

This was too much for Julien's young mind to process. He'd never been away from the castle before. Even when he'd gone on outings with his parents, he always knew he'd be back home at the end of the day. Living in a world without his toys and storybooks was too unbearable to imagine. He clenched his fists as his face turned from pink to red. Then, he ran to the corner of the room and started to cry.

As Julien ran from him, Adam bowed his head in despair. He wished he could offer his son some words of comfort, some assurance that they wouldn't be hiding forever, that things  _would_ go back to normal. But he couldn't. The truth was that every day, France was clouded in new uncertainties. First the revolution, now the Templars. If the Legislative Assembly abolished the French monarch, what would happen to his family? If the Templars succeeded in their crazy plan to reform the world, what would happen to humanity? What kind of father was Adam, if he couldn't protect his son from the dangers that were out there?

Luckily for Adam, Belle was there to save the day. She followed her son to the corner of the room and sat beside him. "Julien," she said gently, putting her hand on his shoulder, "do you remember the story I told you about Jonah and the whale?"

Julien wiped his nose on his sleeve and nodded.

"What happened to Jonah at the end of the story?"

"God… God saved him," Julien recalled. "He make de big fish spit… spit him out."

"That's right." Belle smiled. "I know you're scared Julien, and I know you're upset. And that's perfectly all right. But you need to remember that no matter where we are, God is always watching over us. He does have a plan. He's not going to make us stay here forever."

"But Maman, I wanna leave now!" Julien cried impatiently. "I don't like it here. I want my toys! And… my room."

"I know Julien, I know. But you still have something, something that's better than all those things. Do you know what it is?"

He shook his head.

"A mother, father and grandfather who love you very much. And the servants, too. We'll all be here to protect you and make sure nothing bad happens to you. Do you understand?"

Julien bit his lip indecisively before he nodded. "Maman, I'm scared."

"What are you scared of,  _petit?"_

"Scared you and Papa'll go. Again."

"We're not going to go away, Julien," his mother assured him. "We're staying right here, with you."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Pinky swear?"

"Pinky swear."

"Cross heart?"

"Cross my heart, Julien. I promise."

But Adam would soon be breaking that promise. As much as he hated to leave his son, he'd made a deal. Now that Arno had upheld his agreement to help him find Belle and Julien it was only fair that he upheld his.

After the royal couple had reunited with Julien, they were visited by a delighted Lumière and Cogsworth. Both were relieved and overjoyed to see their masters in Pithiviers, safe and sound. Remembering their master's intent to travel to Paris, they presented him with a set of clean commoner's clothes to wear on his journey. Grateful to his servants, and eager to be rid of the dead man's uniform, Adam immediately changed into the nondescript outfit. The clothes weren't as well-made as the ones he wore back at the castle, but he still felt more himself in them than he'd felt in several hours. After giving Belle and Julien a heartfelt goodbye, promising them he'd be back "really soon," he returned downstairs, where Arno was preparing the carriage for their journey. It would take them over half a day to reach Paris. After the painfully short reunion he'd had with his son, Adam hoped that these lost hours would be worth it.

"I can't believe what this country's coming to," he said, shortly after he and Arno had boarded the carriage. "If only I'd seen the signs, listened to the people, done something, maybe things could have been different. I was so preoccupied with... my marriage, and reclaiming my father's lands, I didn't see what was happening out there until it was too late."

"Is that a tinge of regret I hear, your majesty?" Arno asked, his voice somewhere between condescending and curious.

Adam shrugged. "Maybe. I was a selfish man once, Arno. I never cared about anyone's wellbeing but my own, and it nearly ruined me. Since then, I've tried not to make the same mistakes again. But a man can only do so much, when his king sees things differently."

Arno curled his lip up in sympathy. "You know, the Assassins have a saying," he told him. _"Rien n’est vrai, tout est permis."_

“Nothing is true, everything is permitted?” The Prince tilted his head, confused. "That sounds like a revolutionist statement."

"Does it?"

"Yes. It means you can do whatever you please. There are no rules, no order, no consequences. Everything should fall into..." He paused, remembering a word his wife had taught him once, "... _chaos."_

"Well, I suppose that's one way of looking at it," the Assassin agreed.

"There's another way?"

"Personally, I see it as an opportunity," he explained. "'Nothing is true' means that there's nothing to stop you from pursuing your ideals. 'Everything is permitted' means that you can do as you will. There's nobody who can control you, or tell you who you should or shouldn't be. You can change who you are. Start over. Even… redeem yourself of your past mistakes."

"I'm guessing you've made a lot of mistakes, then," Adam observed.

It was Arno's turn to look uncomfortable. He shifted his gaze to the window. "The day that Monsieur de la Serre died, a letter was sent to him," he explained quietly. "A warning that, had he read before he reached the _Château de Versailles,_  could have saved his life. I... was meant to deliver that letter to him. Only I didn't know what it was at the time. I was too distracted, caught up in my own 'personal pursuits' to bring it to him in person. So, I slipped it under his office door, thinking he would return for it when he returned." His eyes grew dark. "He never did."

Adam looked at Arno incredulously. "You didn’t really kill Seigneur de la Serre that day, did you?"

"I didn't," he confirmed. "But I still take the blame for his death. Don’t you see? It was my own foolishness that caused his murder. Just as it was my foolishness that caused my own father's death, and his daughter to disown me, when she'd learned of what I'd done. I was  _desperate_  to redeem myself. To start over, to let go of the mistakes I'd made. And I found all of that in the Assassins."

"But you  _assassinate_  people for a living," Adam replied, baffled. "How is there redemption in that?"

"The Assassins don't take pleasure in their kills," he explained plainly. "We always use discretion when we plan our targets, and only kill those that are most necessary to kill. And we  _never_ harm the innocent."

"And what do you hope to accomplish from killing all these… 'targets?'"

"What we've wanted to accomplish for centuries. Freedom. Free will for the people. But progress is slow. Especially when our enemies are always one step ahead of us."

"The Templars?"

He nodded. "They're a treacherous lot; the ones you've met anyways. What they're doing to France is only a small taste of what they'd do to the rest of the world, if they have their way. That's why we need to stop them."

Adam understood, but at the same time, he didn't _agree._ Ultimately, he was conflicted. How could a man serve an organization that believed that  _killing_  people was the best way to solve problems? A group that glorified disorder, but had no problems silencing those who threatened their "ideals?"

At the same time, Arno didn't strike Adam as a simpleton. He'd clearly chosen this path for a profound reason. Maybe he really did want to find redemption, just as Adam wanted to be redeemed when he fell in love with Belle. Their stories were  _similar,_  but that didn't make them  _alike._  In fact, the more Adam thought about it, comparing his backstory to Arno's was like comparing a small sapling to a large forest.

Yes, the Beast's love for Belle had broken the curse. But it hadn't freed him from the  _Maison des Lunes_ , or stopped Gaston from kidnapping his wife. And it certainly hadn't helped him foresee the revolution that was now tearing his country apart. "Love is blind," as Belle had read to him in a book once. Perhaps the years he'd spent as a married man had really "blinded" him from seeing what was happening to the world. 

Outside the carriage window, the sky was grey and thick with clouds. The Prince silently mourned for a world where magic still existed, where the good were rewarded, the bad were punished, and all problems could be resolved with a simple declaration of love. Love had once been the end to his curse. Now it  _was_  his curse. And if it wasn't the answer to this revolution, then what was?

* * *

Le Château de la Rose  
8 February, 1788 (Four Years Earlier)

 _"Florianne, Florine, Francette, Francine, Françoise, Frédérique… do any of these names pique your interest? Adam?_ Adam!"

_Hearing his name, the prince turned to his wife with a start. Belle had been going through a book of baby names in the library for the past half-hour. In the meantime, he'd been standing in front of the fireplace, thinking about almost everything… except the subject at hand. "What?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible._

_"Names… for the baby?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow at his clear inattentiveness. "Are there any I've read out to you that you like so far?"_

_"Oh…" he replied, blushing. "Uh, I mean… Oh yes! They're all fine. Good. I like all of them."_

_He turned back to the fireplace, just moments before something smacked into the mantelpiece in front of him. He jumped back, stunned to see Belle's book of baby names fall to the floor. She'd tried to throw a book at him, of all things!_

_"What was that for?!" he said, looking back at her in alarm._

_"You know perfectly well what," she snapped. Her expression, which before had conveyed mild annoyance, was now utterly furious. "We're having a baby together, and the only comment you can make about his future name is 'fine?'"_

_"Well, what else do you want me to say?" he replied exasperatedly. "Frédérique, Florine… they're all good names! Honestly, you can name him whatever you want. I don't mind."_

_"And that is_ exactly _what's wrong with you," she continued, crossing her arms over her chest. "As parents, we should decide on our baby's name_ together. _But you're shrugging the whole thing off as if it's nothing. Like it's not important to you at all!"_

_"Belle, I'm sorry!" he replied agitatedly. "I—I just have a lot on my mind. Look, it's getting late. Why don't we discuss this tomorrow?"_

_"No, we absolutely cannot discuss this tomorrow!" she shouted. "It's_ always _tomorrow with you! Ever since the physician told us the news, it feels like you've been wanting to talk about everything... except that I'm with child. It's almost like you don't…" she paused, "… like you don't want to have this baby with me."_

 _The bluntness of her words was like a sharp slap in the face. He didn't really feel that way about her, did he? "No, no, it's not that at all," he said, trying to justify himself. "It's just that…"_ Your mood swings are driving me crazy. My whole life is about to change. This baby wasn't supposed to happen. I shouldn't be capable of reproducing, period.

_Belle saw the truth before her husband did. Her expression lowered. "You're afraid."_

_He slouched his shoulders and nodded his head, defeated. "Belle, look at me. How can I be a father; after all I've been through? My mother died before I learned to talk. My father abandoned me when I was just a child. I grew up believing I was entitled to everything and became the worst person…_ creature _you could imagine. And now I find out I'm going to have a baby, and I'm supposed to be happy about it? I'm hardly father material here!"_

 _"You're talking about the person you were, not the person you_ are," _Belle corrected. "And we both know that you're better than all that. You're sweet and funny and protective — any child would love to have you as their father."_

 _"Fine. So maybe I'm a bit_ better," _he agreed reluctantly. "But that doesn't mean I can't go back. There are so many moments, even now when… I get so angry; it feels like I'm_ him _again. I think of you, and how ill you've been this past month, and I realize, it's all because of me. Because I did that to you. And if something goes wrong, if you die in childbirth, it will be all my fault. Because I was selfish and didn't think to —"_

 _"Adam!" Belle cut in. "You are being ridiculous. First of all, I'm_ not _going to die in childbirth. And secondly, you didn't put this baby inside of me by yourself. We made him_ together. _I'm just as responsible for conceiving him as you are. You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and stop taking the blame for things beyond your control!"_

_He wished he could argue with her, but could think of nothing more to say. Even if he did, he knew she'd find a way to counter him. She always did._

_Seizing the opportunity, Belle crossed the floor and put her hand on his cheek. "You've always seen the worst in things. Believe me, I understand. But if you keep on ignoring the good things that come your way, you'll have nothing to look forward to in life. Yes, we didn't plan for this baby. Yes, we don't know a lot about being parents. But he_ is _coming, and we're going to do our best to meet him when he arrives."_

_She put Adam's hand over her slightly swollen stomach, trying to make him understand. Only he couldn't. All he knew was that Belle could be doing so much more than this. Travelling the world. Opening her own bookshop. Fighting for women's rights. Instead, she was here, as his wife, princess, and now, the soon-to-be mother of his firstborn. Could he not show a little appreciation; after everything she'd sacrificed for him?_

_"Léa," he said._

_"What?"_

_"I like the name Léa, for a girl. It's pretty."_

_She grinned. "That's perfect. We'll add it to the list!"_


	10. A Bitter Truth

"We're here, your majesty."

Adam opened his eyes. He'd been having a dream, something about running through a hall of broken mirrors, trying to reach an eagle flying overhead, even though it was impossibly out of reach. At some point the mirrors turned into tall pine trees; and Adam realized he was standing in the Black Forest in the dead of winter. Not far from him, lying in a snowbank had been his father, fresh blood trickling from his throat, though he still kept his head up and his eyes open.

_"Why didn't you come back?" the Prince demanded in the voice of his eleven-year-old self. "I was waiting for you!"_

" _I had no choice, son," his father replied morosely. "They found_ me _first."_

_Suddenly, the earth shuddered violently beneath Adam's feet. From a hole in the ground emerged the enchantress, her violet eyes glowing with the fury of a thousand suns. She floated towards the young Prince and told him how gravely he'd disappointed her, that he'd learned nothing from his mistakes, done nothing to save the countless innocents who were dying in France every day because of his insolence._

" _I'm sorry!" he said, falling to his knees in fear. "I didn't know this would happen!"_

" _It doesn't matter, my Prince," the enchantress replied, unfazed. "Twice I have tested you, and twice you have failed me. Each time you have proven to be nothing but a selfish and ignorant beast. And so, you have left me no choice. I must place the curse on you for the rest of your days."_

_The wind picked up speed as the enchantress raised her magic wand. Lighting crackled in the sky as the crucifix on her neck rocked back and forth in the wind…_

Adam shook himself back to reality, glad that the nightmare had ended when it did. He thanked Arno for waking him, then looked out the dark carriage window. What he saw outside caused him to widen his eyes in disbelief.

"This is Paris?" he asked, turning back to the Assassin.

"Paris at war," Arno corrected.

Adam remembered the last time he'd visited the city five years ago, during his post-wedding trip with Belle. Everything had looked so majestic then, from the lowest residential buildings on the Parisian outskirts to the tallest towers of the Notre Dame Cathedral. And so much noise and movement! After living in a desolate castle for ten years, the humdrum of city life was just as thrilling to the Prince as it was overwhelming. But now, he was overwhelmed in a completely different sense of the word.

The streets of Paris were in complete chaos. They were littered with overturned carriages and half-broken barricades built from pieces of debris, barrels, sandbags and anything strong enough to withstand an incoming assault. The carriage pressed through the Invalides District, and Adam heard gunshots, followed by panicked screams as several citizens ran for their lives. Moments later they turned the corner, allowing him to see the source of the fiasco; a brawl had broken out in the street between a band of radicals and civilians armed with swords and bayonets.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Right next to the scene was a cart carrying the bloody corpses of an earlier battle. Just looking at it caused Adam's hair to rise up on the back of his neck. How could the city be so thoughtless to leave the dead out on display, for all its citizens to see?

They passed the Abbey of Saint-Germain-de-Prés, now gated shut as a mass of citizens protested outside its walls. They raised their fists and proclaimed their rights to liberty and equality, to an audience of indifferent royal guards, who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. To the side of the mob, a group of men tossed crates and broken bar stools into a bonfire. The flames allowed Adam just enough light to read  _"La Liberté ou la Morte"_ on a banner pinned to the abbey’s gates.

But the most disturbing sight of all came two blocks later, when the Prince saw a civilian laughing manically as he held up the decapitated head of a man on a stick. By then, Adam had seen enough. He leaned back in his seat, feeling like he was going to be sick.

"How can you live in a place like this?" he said, turning back to Arno in disgust.

"You don't," Arno replied simply. "You find something to fight for. You think of the people, and tell yourself that if you can relieve their suffering, even a little, the world will better itself from it."

"How can anyone make this better?" Adam replied as he gestured out the window. "It's like watching a fire that's burned the city to a crisp."

Suddenly, the coach pulled to a stop and Arno heard a knock on the door. He looked out the window and saw a woman dressed in a hooded outfit like his. He twisted the handle open.

"Bonjour Arno," the newcomer said.

"Héloïse," Arno replied in acknowledgement.

"I have a message from Master Quemar. He's requested that you come to his residence and bring his majesty with you."

"I suppose blindfolds have become rather passé," Arno replied, remembering when he'd brought Élise to the Assassin headquarters over a year ago. "Well then, I'm on my way."

"Oh, and Arno?" Héloïse added as an afterthought. "They've barricaded access to Pont Neuf. It would probably be best to walk from here."

Arno peered out the carriage. Sure enough, just a few blocks down from them was a blockade obstructing the way to Île Saint-Louis. He frowned. "Thanks for the notice." Of course, the journey to Quemar's residence would be much quicker by rooftop. But unless the Prince was secretly trained in parkour, he wouldn't be able to follow Arno that way.

* * *

Arno and the Prince hadn't been walking for long before a cacophony of voices bombarded them from all sides of the street.

" _Bonjour Arno!"_  said a woman in a blue lacey dress and feathered hat.

" _Arno! Comment apportes-tu?"_  asked another man wearing a tricorn hat and a brown jacket.

"These people know you," Adam remarked in surprise.

"I may have got some of them out of a few sticky situations, once or twice," Arno said nonchalantly. "Excuse me."

Adam hurried his pace as he followed the Assassin through the crowd. They both stopped to watch two radicals shout loud accusations at a young woman as they forced her to her knees. Despite the woman's pleas to let her go, the men continued to harass her. One even pointed his pistol at her head, threatening to shoot her if she didn't confess to her alleged crimes.

Thankfully, Arno was there to save the day. It took him only a second to sneak behind the radicals and stab their backs with the blades attached to his gauntlets. Both fell to the ground, gasping for breath. Meanwhile, the victim rose to her feet in amazement.

" _Merci! Du fond du cœur merci!"_  she said to Arno graciously. She curtsied at him, then disappeared into the crowd, as though afraid of what would happen if she lingered.  

Ten minutes later, Arno was saving yet anothe _r_  citizen from sudden peril. This time, the victim was lying face down on the ground as his assailants surrounded him, kicking at him and calling him names. All they needed was to take one look at Arno's pistol to realize that the price of bullying wasn't worth their life. They fled the scene instantly.

It was strange for Adam to see Arno save these commoners so effortlessly, but it made sense. The people of Paris saw him as their vigilante, their hero. And all for good reasons. He'd done more good for one city than Adam had ever done in the sixteen years he'd been a Prince.

* * *

At long last, Arno and Adam arrived at Master Quemar's residence. The secretary at the front desk was so accustomed to dealing with Quemar's "hooded clients" that he barely looked up from his paperwork as he admitted them upstairs.

Upon reaching the second floor, Arno and Adam entered a bureau that was cluttered with parchment. Every inch of counter space was covered with handwritten notes and documents from various court proceedings. It made Adam wonder if this Quemar person was some sort of lawyer.

On the opposite end of the bureau, standing beside a bookshelf was the mysterious master himself. On first impression, Adam thought the man to be someone both wise and authoritative. He was an elderly fellow with shoulder length grey hair slicked to the back of his head and a short, grizzly beard. He was wearing a long leather tailcoat, offset by a crimson sash fastened together with a triangular insignia. Like Arno, he didn't strike Adam as a blood-crazed killer.

"Welcome back to Paris, Monsieur Dorian," Master Quemar said warmly. "I see you've brought his majesty back with you in one piece. And what of Monsieur D’Arque?"

"Dead," Arno answered solemnly. "Along with his schemes."

"I am pleased to hear that. With D’Arque's death, we have undoubtedly saved the lives of countless people in Orléanais."

"If only that were true. D’Arque wasn't working alone. A townsman named Gaston Légume was in league him."

Master Quemar looked surprised. "The asylum keeper had an accomplice? Are you certain?"

" _Oui Maître._  I looked into D’Arque's memories and learned that he'd recruited Monsieur Légume some five years earlier to breech Prince Adam's castle, so he could retrieve the artifact you sought. He also conspired to kill the Prince and his son so he could take Princess Belle as his wife. He would have nearly succeeded too, if not for my intervention."

"I am dreadfully sorry for the trouble, your majesty," Quemar said, turning to the Prince in sympathy. "Our informants had anticipated an attack on your castle, but they did not know what all the motives for that attack could be. I shall of course send someone to investigate Monsieur Légume's relation to the Templars. He may be the key to determining who their new leader is." He looked back to Arno. "And what of the artifact they were seeking? Did they take it?"

"No," Adam said, speaking out of turn. "I have it."

Silence filled the room. Arno looked confused while Quemar looked awestruck.

"May I see it?" he asked the Prince curiously.

Adam's body tensed up at the mentor's question. His warning to Belle a month ago echoed through his mind,  _"Whatever that… that thing is, it's dangerous! Just lock it up and leave it alone."_

"Why?" he asked him defensively. There was no way he'd let the mirror's power be unleashed again. Not after the hell it had put him through the first time.

"Only to examine," Quemar replied, sensing the Prince's hostility. "I wouldn't want to scare off my secretary. Especially after it's taken me this long to hire him."

Arno chucked at that. The levity in the old man's voice even caused Adam to lower his guard a fraction. The Assassins had led him this far, hadn't they? They'd saved his life and reunited him with Belle and Julien. They'd done nothing to betray his trust – except that they were all obsessed with killing people. But even then, they only killed those that were  _necessary_ to kill. They'd sent Arno on this mission to rescue him, and to stop D’Arque. All because knew something about this mirror that he didn't.

Hoping he wouldn't regret his decision, Adam pulled the rag out of his trousers and handed it to the old man.

After Master Quemar had cleared a space on his desk, he set down the blanket and unwrapped it to reveal the magic mirror. He inhaled sharply as he took in its elaborate design; a relic from time and age that surpassed all human understanding.

"What's so special about it?" Arno asked skeptically. "It's only a mirror."

"Monsieur Dorian, you may leave us."

"Mentor?" Arno blinked in surprise.

"You have done what I asked of you, Arno. You ended D’Arque's life and brought Prince Adam to Paris. But from this point on, this conversation remains between the council and his majesty. You may retire until we have prepared another assignment for you."

It was as though Arno had suddenly become a small child to Quemar's eyes.  _It's not fair!_  he thought with frustration. He'd intercepted the damned treasure from the Templars, hadn't he? He'd saved the Prince's skin, and brought him to his family, all as the Council had requested. After all he'd done for this mission, didn't he have a right to find out why this little heirloom was so important to the Templars, too?

But here in the Assassin Brotherhood, the Council's word was law. The contracts they sent their recruits on were smaller chapters in a novel they would never have time to read nor comprehend. Those who challenged that order would face the consequences. Remembering this, Arno buried his anger and resumed his expressionless façade.

"I'm glad to have met you, your highness," he said, turning back to the Prince.

"Me too, Arno," Adam replied. While he wouldn't exactly call Arno a friend, he had enjoyed his company these past couple days, and admired his dedication to helping the people of France.

With that, the two men shook hands and Arno exited the room. Despite his sudden departure, the Prince had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time they'd be seeing each other.

* * *

"I'm just going to touch it," Master Quemar explained. "Nothing else."

The Prince nodded hesitantly. Moments later, the room filled with beams of lights and cryptic symbols, all emanating from the magic mirror. Adam's knuckles whitened as he gripped the chair in front of him, letting the master study the apparitions in closer detail.  _It's an illusion,_ he reminded himself firmly. _Just an illusion. It's not real. Not real. Notrealnotrealnotreal._

"Just as I suspected," Quemar said a minute later. He touched the mirror again, and the light and symbols retreated into the glass. "It's one of our many missing Pieces of Eden."

"Eden?" Adam repeated, grateful for the moment to catch his breath. "You mean… like the Garden of Eden, from the Bible?"

He nodded. "At least, Eden according to how the book describes it. We have reason to believe these pieces were created by a race of highly intelligent beings who existed long before the earliest records of human history. Each piece containing powers capable of possessing a nation, were they to fall into the wrong hands. The first in our order to study one was a man named Altaïr from twelfth century Masyaf. Then, in the fifteenth century, an Italian Assassin named Ezio was contacted by one of its architects with a warning for the future. Since then, we've dedicated our lives to protecting these items from those who would use them for harm. But even that is not without risk. Our brothers in America attempted to seize one from Lisbon nearly forty years ago, and it caused an earthquake great enough to destroy the entire city. But I'm getting ahead of myself." He paused. "You must be wondering how such an artifact came into your possession."

"I  _do_  know how," Adam replied. "An enchantress gave it to me."

Master Quemar looked puzzled. "An enchantress, you say?"

Adam nodded. He wasn't exactly comfortable sharing his story with a stranger, but if Quemar was to understand how he'd received the mirror, he knew he'd have to tell him the truth. So with great aversiveness, he explained to him what had happened that Christmas Eve when he was eleven years old. He struggled to put his memories into words at first, but with Quemar's encouragement, soon detailed the full conditions of the spell and the beastly form the enchantress had confined him to for a decade. He explained how he had become just as monstrous on the inside as he was on the outside, abandoning human mannerisms for primal needs like hunting and sleeping. It was only by meeting Belle that he rediscovered his lost humanity and learned how to love. Through her compassion and companionship, he'd broken the spell and become the man he was today.

" _C'est incroyable,"_ Quemar said once he had finished. "I've never heard of a Piece of Eden capable of conjuring such intricate illusions before."

"Illusions?" Adam repeated in confusion.

"All the precursor artifacts we've discovered have been known to manipulate the senses in some way," he elaborated. "Some by mind control, others by sending spectral messages to the wielder, or by creating illusions – as seems to be the case with your mirror. But even I couldn't have predicted something like this. Only someone with great power and a great knowledge of these artifacts could conjure an apparition with the detail you've described. We may never know who she was, or where she is now."

Adam was dumbfounded. "So you're telling me that the spell was caused by… a trick the enchantress created through this mirror?"

"Not a  _trick_  per se," Master Quemar clarified. "An alteration of human perception. Pieces of Eden connect with a special part of the brain, making us hear, see, and feel things that aren't really there. They're a highly advanced piece of technology. Even with our years of research, we've only scratched the surface of how they really work."

Highly advanced technology or not, Adam still believed the right word the old man was looking for was "trick." He couldn't believe it. Based on what the master was telling him, he'd never been a beast at all! All he'd had to do was stop believing in the mirror's illusions, his "curse" would have ended, and those years of anger and self-loathing would have never existed. He hadn't lost ten years to a curse, he had lost them to a  _lie._ And he'd believed it, hook, line and sinker.

"But Belle broke the spell," he argued, trying to convince himself more than anything. "If the curse was just an illusion, then how was she able to change everything back?"

"That I cannot say, your majesty," Master Quemar replied. "Though if I were to guess, perhaps the mirror required a trigger to deactivate its power."

"A trigger? Like what?"

He shrugged. "The love you felt your wife, perhaps. In a roundabout way, maybe the enchantress was suggesting that you needed 'love' to see past the  _illusions,_ not the curse."

Adam snorted. If that was the case why would the enchantress bother revealing the illusion's weakness to him in the first place? It seemed like a pretty stupid way of getting a message across… if she was in fact, trying to send him one. "How do I know you're not lying?" he challenged. "You could be working for the Templars and trying to convince me to give up the mirror so you can use it for your own ill purposes."

"I can assure you, your majesty, that I have no intention of doing anything with the mirror apart from returning it to where it belongs," said Master Quemar. "If it's evidence you seek, I can show you countless books we've written on the subject. We've collected many documents over the years from people who've been exposed to precursor artifacts, just like you. Though I doubt you'd need to read any of them to be convinced of the truth. Haven't you wondered why the mirror's powers stopped working after the spell ended?"

 _Of course not._  Adam had never questioned the mirror's powers because... he'd never had reason to. It all went back to first time he and Belle had tried using the mirror just a few days after the enchantment. They'd only wanted to see if it still worked, but something had gone wrong in the process. All Adam remembered was being blinded by light, and suddenly he was a Beast again, alone in the shadowy darkness of the West Wing. Everything about his surroundings seemed so real; as time passed (and he never figured out how long he was there exactly), he believed that he'd woken from a dream, and that meeting Belle was an illusion manifested from his desperation to be human again. The fact he'd  _imagined_ his happy ending was unbearable, and he nearly went mad with despair.

But then, as though someone had turned on a light, he wasn't in the darkness anymore. He was human again, lying in the brightly lit West Wing, Belle shaking him frantically, asking if he was all right. It took him days before he could explain to her what he'd seen. By then, he demanded that the mirror be locked away, never to be used again. For years he'd tried to put the incident out of his mind, but now he was beginning to understand why it had happened. What he'd experienced that day wasn't a mere side effect of the curse. It resulted from him and Belle tapping into the mirror's power. He really  _had_  been living an illusion for all those years and had been too blind to see it.

"Why did you bring me here?" he asked Master Quemar, turning away from the mirror in revulsion.

"A debt to an old friend. As you know, your father died around the same time this mirror was left at your doorstep. I daresay you must be curious to know how the two events are related."

"The letter Arno gave me  _was_  from him my father then, wasn't it?"

"Yes. And if you would like to sit down, I will explain exactly what it means."

Adam obliged. Anything to get away from the subject of the mirror was fine by him.

* * *

For the next quarter of an hour, Master Quemar told Adam a story unlike any he'd heard before. His first impression of it all was that he wished that Belle was there to hear it. It was a tale that transcended history, a tale of men and women, all working together to fight for something much bigger than a curse. The Assassin Order had worked for over a millennium to safeguard humanity's free will from those who would take it from them. They had many enemies, but the greatest and oldest of them all was the Templars; an organization who wanted to eradicate the people's freedom for order, purpose and their twisted idea of a perfect world. For centuries, these Templars had been manipulating history behind the scenes. The rise of powerful leaders like Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar and Rodrigo Borgia? The Templars had influenced them all. The Crusaders from the middle ages? The Templars had been a vital part of their army, killing millions of people across the Holy Land. The American Revolution? The Templars had been manipulating each of its battles, trying to gain the upper hand so that they could take the colonies for themselves. In every defining moment of history, the Templars were always seeking control, and the Assassins were always there to stop them. Even though their attempts weren't always successful.

Master Quemar then spoke of a third group of individuals known as the Precursors. These beings, whose current whereabouts remained unknown, had been leaving cryptic messages for the Assassins for decades, warning of a catastrophic event set to happen at an unknown time in the future. According to Quemar, the Precursors were the ones who'd made Adam's mirror and countless other artifacts around the world. Some of them were in the hands of Templars. Others with the Assassins. Others had yet to be found.

Quemar then concluded his mindboggling tale by detailing the events that had led to Prince Samuel D’Auvergnon's death. Just three years earlier, the French Assassins had attempted to make a truce with the Templars, which had fallen through after the sudden death of their Grand Master, Lord de la Serre. His death was just one of several unexplained Templar murders to take place in the past decade. The others had comprised of several highborn members, including Adam's father.

"Wait a minute," Adam said upon hearing this news. "You're saying that my father… was one of these Templars?" True he didn't know much about his father, but he'd never suspect him of joining the lunatic cult that Gaston and D’Arque were so obsessed with. The news was almost as shocking to him as realizing that his curse was just an illusion.

"Surprised are you?" Quemar said in understanding. "Yes, Prince Samuel wasn't the best Templar in the business, but he was a Templar, nonetheless. But in the last years of his life, his trust in the Order began to waver. He suspected that an outsider was trying to usurp the organization and take it for himself. But when he tried to voice his concerns to La Serre, he rebuffed him. So instead, he went to us. For months, he wrote us letters about a Precursor artifact that the Templars had left with him for safekeeping. He was afraid that a weakness in the Order would see it taken from him and planned to defect from the Templars and leave the artifact in our protection. It was his intent to come to Paris to deliver it to us in person."

"So that's why he left that night," Adam realized. The letter Arno had showed him was starting to make sense.

"Indeed." Master Quemar nodded. "But as you know, your father never made it to Paris. He was killed en route, and his murderers took the mirror with them. For years, we believed the artifact to be lost without a trace; until we heard word from our informants that the Templars had discovered it in your castle. Apparently, whoever had stolen the artifact from your father that night had also chosen to return it."

"But why would they leave the mirror with me in the first place?" Adam asked. Did they want to torture an eleven-year-old Prince, just for the fun of it?

"Maybe it was for safekeeping," Master Quemar suggested. "A well-fortified castle would be a fine place to conceal an artifact. Add that to the mirror's ability to conjure illusions, and perhaps they believed that they could use it to scare others from the area."

Adam considered that. He did find it strange that the only people to venture into his castle during the curse were Belle and her father. He'd always assumed that the wolves were responsible for his lack of visitors. But now, given what he knew about the mirror and its powers, he was beginning to question if those wolves had even existed. They certainly hadn't come by as often since the spell had lifted.

As he pondered these things, Master Quemar stood up from his chair and took out a box from the shelf next to him.

"Comte de Mirabeau, a late colleague of mine requested that we give you these items at the earliest convenience," he explained as he set the box on the table. "Considering France's present circumstances, I think now is the right time."

He opened the lid to reveal a bundle of envelopes written in Prince Samuel's hand, along with a gold ring engraved with the Auvergnon family coat of arms.

"My father's insignia ring," Adam said in recognition. "Where did you get this?"

"It was taken from your father when he was murdered," Master Quemar explained. "A few years ago, one of our recruits snatched it from a corrupt peddler in the city and gave it to us for safekeeping. We Assassins may be killers, but we're not thieves. It's only right that we return it to it you."

The Prince picked up the ring and studied it in amazement. "Thank you," he said.

"I don't pretend to be an expert on your father's past, your majesty,” Quemar went on. “But I do know, based on his letters, that he cared for you immensely, and intended to be a bigger presence in your life once his work with the Order was over. Take comfort in knowing that the life you've shared with your wife is exactly what he would have wanted for you."

Adam said nothing. His mind was a turmoil of emotions, denial being the greatest. All he could see was this box, full of letters to a secret society, written by a father he once despised, but now realized he knew nothing about.


	11. Roads Not Taken

"Maman! Maman, look!" Julien exclaimed as he pointed outside. "Papa's back!"

Belle set down the trousers she'd been sewing for her son and hurried to the window. Her husband had only been gone for a day, but to her and Julien, it had felt like ages.

In the street below, they watched as Adam dismounted the coach with his head down. He was walking with a slouch in his step; a posture that hearkened back to his Beast days when he was in one of his bad moods. Belle hadn't seen him look that way in years. It was the first thing to clue her to the fact that something was wrong.

" _Mon chou,"_  she said, putting a hand in front of Julien. "I need you to stay here with your grand-père."

"Huh? But I wanna see Papa!"

"And you will, Julien, you will," she assured him. "Just wait here for now, all right?"

She kissed the top of his head and hurried downstairs.

* * *

She found Adam sitting at the brothel bar with a glass of whisky in his hand. The sight stopped her dead in her tracks. She knew her husband disliked alcohol, because he always complained that it made him sick when he tried it at social events. To see him drinking it now was not only shocking, it was completely out of character.

"Adam!" she shouted at him, not caring who else was around to hear.

"Hello, Belle," he acknowledged without looking at her. He had known she would come, and that infuriated her more. She drew up the chair next to him and sat down.

"What's wrong with you?" she said, gesturing to the whisky in his hand. "Your son is upstairs, waiting to see you!"

"I know," he replied distantly. "Sorry. I just… it's been a long day."

She snatched the glass away before he could take another sip. "I don't care how long your day was!" she told him angrily. "I will not let you become a drunken fool while the rest of us wait for you to sober up. You know that you don't drink. And you know that you're better than this!"

Adam flinched. He finally turned to face her, and the dark bags under his eyes clued her to how sad and tired he really was. She immediately felt a pang of guilt for yelling at him. In a gentler voice, she asked, "Did something happen in Paris?"

He nodded.

"I'm sorry. Will you tell me about it?"

He sighed, staring at the glass in her hand longingly. "Do I have a choice?"

 In a secluded corner of the bar, Adam sat down with Belle and told her his story, exactly as Master Quemar had told it to him in Paris. He told her about the history of the Assassins, the Templars and the Precursors. He told her about the magic mirror and its ability to conjure elaborate illusions, including the illusion that had made him and his servants believe they were under a spell for a decade. He then told Belle of his decision to leave the mirror with Master Quemar, who'd promised to return it to its "original location" — wherever that was exactly. Lastly, he revealed his father's connection to the Templar Order and his initial plan to give the mirror to the Assassins, before an unknown party murdered him. Somehow, the mirror had returned to the  _Château de la Rose_ afterwards _,_  but the person who returned it remained a mystery.

"I can't believe it," he said, burying his face in his hands. "I've spent my whole life thinking my father wanted nothing to do with me. And now I find out he was working for a secret society that's been trying to take over the world for centuries. I'm not just the son of a prince, I'm the son of a fanatic who was obsessed with world domination. But somehow, I'm supposed to be fine with all that because he 'loved' me and backed out when he realized his life was in danger. This is insane. I just… I don't know what to think anymore."

Belle pursed her lips together in sympathy, willing him to continue.

"I just keep wondering. What have I  _really_ been doing for the past twenty-six of my life? When I was a boy, I never cared about anyone but myself. I refused shelter to an old beggar woman, for God's sake! Then I became a slave to that mirror for ten years, and all I did was mope around and wallow in my own self-pity. Just like all those aristocrats out there, who are too absorbed in their own problems to help their own people. Now look at the Templars my father served. All they care about is power, and 'reshaping' humanity to fit their own selfish agenda. What if I didn't just become a monster because I grew up without parents? What if I became that way because it runs in my family?"

"Even if that is true," Belle replied, "—and I doubt it is – you've changed so much since then! I don't know how many times I have to repeat myself until you believe me. Do you remember what you told me about Gaston, and why you chose to spare his life that night at the castle?"

"I've been trying to forget about it, to be perfectly honest."

"Well could you remember it, just this once?" she persisted. "I want to hear your explanation again."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, unsure of where this conversation was going. "I was holding him over the edge of the roof by his neck," he began. "And he was begging me to spare him. I almost didn't listen. But then, I heard the old beggar woman asking me to give her shelter from the cold. And your father, begging me for mercy. And you, begging me for his freedom. And I realized that all that time, I had a choice, that I  _always_ had a choice. And now I had another choice: spare Gaston's life, or take it away from him. So... I decided to put him back on the roof."

"There's the word there," Belle pointed out.  _"'Choice.'_  You showed Gaston mercy, because you believed it was the right thing to do. And you'd be right," she added. "But that's not what the Templars want. If they had their way, then no one would ever make their own decisions again. All free will would be taken away from us. Instead we'd blindly follow their way of thinking and their way of life. But you of all people know that the ability to  _choose_ is a valuable gift. And you also how terrible it is to have your freedom taken away at a moment's notice. That's what makes you different from your father. And from the Templars."

"Fine." He shrugged. "So I'm not a Templar. But what good did choosing to be merciful do? Gaston still won! He stabbed me in the back, drove us out of our home, blackmailed you into marrying him, then ran off once he realized he was outnumbered. For all we know, he could be rallying another Templar army to kill us this very moment." He gritted his teeth in rage. "Maybe I  _should_ have dropped him from the roof when I had the chance."

"You know you don't mean that," Belle said, frowning in disapproval. "I don't deny that the people Gaston work for are dangerous. But you have to remember that even rats can't run forever. Gaston's going to have to work a lot harder to keep a low profile now that the Assassins know who he is. Which, if I know Gaston, will definitely disagree with that big ego of his."

Adam chuckled at that. But then he sobered up again. "I just don't know what I'm going do now," he confessed. "I thought that going to England and waiting out the revolution would be the answer for all of us. But now that I know the truth about the Templars, I'm not sure if it's enough. These people are dangerous, and they really are everywhere. Things will only get worse while they have the upper hand in France. I'd write a warning to the king, but he's already busy with his own affairs – I doubt he'd read it, or have the power to do anything about it. I just wish there was another way we could stop them."

Belle bit her lip pensively. "What about the Assassins?" she asked. "You wouldn’t… join them, would you?"

"Me, an Assassin?" Adam looked at her with a baffled expression on his face. "Running around, killing targets and reporting to a master like some kind of knight of the round table?" He snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. That's not me. Still..." He paused. "There is something noble in what they do. From what Master Quemar told me, their entire creed is dedicated to human progress and encouraging independent thought. They've been defending countless civilians in France over the course of this revolution. And… I don't know." He shrugged. "It seems pretty unfair that they have to clean up the mess that Templars and aristocrats like me started."

"It _is_  good of them to help," Belle agreed. "But that doesn't mean you have to do the same. You have other priorities to think about, too. Like getting your son out of France."

Adam looked at his wife in astonishment. As if he'd even consider putting the Assassins before his own family. They were everything to him! But even so, he couldn't forget the images of death and destruction he'd seen back in Paris. If turned his back on all that, would he be admitting that France was a lost cause and the Templars, free to build their "new world" from the ashes?

"It's not that I don't care about Julien's safety," he clarified. "It's all I want for him, I swear! But just think of how many more children will be killed or torn away from their families if the Templars continue their schemes. If we work with the Assassins to stop them, maybe we won't have to hide anymore. Our lives could go back to the way they were before. Well, before the revolution, at least."

"Can you  _guarantee_  that things will go back to the way they were, though?" Belle questioned.

At that, Adam's expression lowered. Truthfully, he didn't know the answer. There were so variables to consider; and the road to victory was often easier said than done. Maybe he really was putting all his eggs in one basket by believing that the Assassins could end the revolution. But it still seemed better than putting his faith in nothing.

Belle put her hand over her husband's in sympathy. While she admired Adam's selflessness; a quality she'd seen in him more and more since the spell had broken, sometimes she worried that he didn't know his own limits. This was one of those moments. "You know that as your wife, I want to support you in everything you do," she said. "But if you take this path, understand that I won't be able to follow you. We both know this place isn't safe for Julien anymore. It was terrifying to lose him once… I'm not going to lose him again. Monsieur Montagne has offered us safe passage to Calais next week, where we can take a ship to England to stay with Cogsworth's sister. I plan to board that ship with our son. And I need to know if you're coming with us."

* * *

Sometime later, Adam followed Belle back upstairs to find Julien, eagerly awaiting his father's return.

"Where'd you go?" he asked as his parents shut the door behind them. "You and Maman left  _forever!"_

"Sorry to make you wait,  _mon brave,"_ Adam replied, patting the top of his son's head affectionately."Your mother and I had to talk about a few 'grown-up things' downstairs. But we're all finished now."

"Oh," the young prince replied. He nibbled his fist distractedly, and Adam was relieved to know that "grown-up things" still meant very little to his three-year-old mind. But suddenly, he looked back at him and asked, "You see  _No-dam?"_

"No-what now?"

"Notre Dame de Paris," Belle clarified next to him. "He's been babbling on about it non-stop since you left for Paris."

"Oh. Well of course I saw it, Julien! You can't miss it. It's the biggest cathedral in the entire city."

" _How_  big?" Julien asked eagerly.

"Even bigger than the castle. You can see the entire city from the top. And all the people on the streets, too. They look just like ants."

"Wow!" Julien's eyes widened in amazement. "I wanna see!"

"Maybe when you're older, Julien," Belle cut in. "Right now, we need to talk to you about something really important."

"Whaddat?"

"We're going to be moving to a new home in England."

"England?" Julien scrunched up his face at the strange sounding word. "What's an… England?"

"England is a country on the other side of the sea," Belle explained. "It's where Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts come from. We'll be staying with Cogsworth's family there for a while, until it's safe to go back home. But don't you fret. As long as we're there, we'll be safe from the bad people, and you'll have lots of room to run around and play. You'll like that, won't you?"

Julien nodded in agreement. "And you come too?" he asked, looking at both his parents expectantly.

"Absolutely, Julien! Everyone's coming. Grand-père, Mrs. Potts, Chip, Cogsworth, me and Papa. Right, 'Papa?'"

She fixed Adam in a piercing gaze, giving him the vaguest impression that she was testing him. "Of-of course," he declared. "We're a family and families stay together."

"Did you hear that, Julien?" Belle smiled, turning back to her son. "'There's nothing to worry about."

"Julien?" Adam interrupted, looking to change the subject. "Do you think you could see this whole room if I put you up on my shoulders?"

Julien giggled. "Can I go up, Papa?  _Pleeease?"_

"Please is the magic word." With that, Adam tossed Julien over his back. Soon he was running around the room, making his son shriek in laughter as he spread out his arms like a bird.

Of course, Adam knew that it was unwise to make so much noise while they were in hiding. But after everything he'd witnessed in the past few days, he was starving for any excuse to spend time with his son and feel like a normal human being again.

That night, the prince found it difficult to sleep. There were too many things on his mind. He tossed and turned for hours before he finally gave up, resigning himself to a night of sleeplessness. On the other side of the mattress, Belle rested peacefully with Julien tucked under her arm. For a few minutes, Adam watched as his son’s little chest rose and fell beneath the covers, just as he'd watched him for countless nights when he was baby. After nearly losing him just minutes after Belle had given birth, watching his son breathe every night hadn't lost its wonder, and likely never would.

* * *

2 August, 1788 (Four Years Earlier)

_"Aghhhh!"_

_Adam clenched his fists as he heard Belle cry out for the umpteenth time that morning. Of course, he knew that labour pains were an inevitable part of the birthing process for all expecting mothers. But this wasn't just an "expecting mother;" this was his wife, dammit! And after everything he'd put her through as his prisoner, it was only natural that he wanted to protect her from suffering. She didn't deserve to bear this pain. And she certainly didn't deserve to bear it alone._

_Hours passed. The prince watched from the window as sunlight crept over the edges of the Black Forest, painting the sky in light shades of purple and pink. Lumière and Cogsworth came by, trying to persuade their restless prince to come downstairs for breakfast, but he refused._

_"I'm the father here, aren't I?" he snapped at them after their third time of asking. "I'm not eating anything until the baby is here!"_

_The servants quickly realized that it was pointless to argue with their hot-headed master. Having nothing else to do, they elected to wait with him instead. Considering how long he'd been awaiting (and dreading) this moment, the best thing they could do was stay and offer their support._

_More hours passed. Belle's screams became more pained and more frequent. Then, just when Adam thought it couldn't get any worse, her cries ceased altogether. He clenched his teeth as he heard hushed voices coming from the bedchamber._ Something's wrong. _Either something had happened to Belle, or the child…_

 _He was an inch away from grabbing the doorknob when Babette stepped outside._ "Maître!"  _she exclaimed with a start._

_"What's going on?" he demanded. "Is Belle all right?"_

_"The mistress is fine, master," Babette replied reassuringly. "But the baby… "_

_Her next words put a horrifying chill down Adam's spine. He shoved her aside and flew into the bedroom._

_The first thing he saw was his wife, lying in bed with a puddle of blood under her legs. Trying to ignore the gruesome mess, he looked to her face, which was flushed and sweaty from the birth. Her damp hair was sticking to the pillow behind her, and her eyes were red, as though she were coming down with a particularly bad head cold._

_"No, no," she muttered to herself, in a clear state of disorientation._

_"Belle." He crossed the room and stroked her cheek affectionately._ "Amour, _what's wrong?"_

_"The baby," she replied, looking at him with terrified brown eyes. "My child. I need to see him!"_

_"Where is he?"_

_She motioned to the corner of the room, where Mrs. Potts and her teenage daughter, Emma, stood huddling around something on the dresser. Adam stepped closer and caught a glimpse of tiny limbs wrapped in a white blanket. Mrs. Potts was rubbing the bundle furiously, but it remained unmoving and quiescent. The prince's stomach lurched unpleasantly. Babette  was right._

_"Mrs. Potts?" he heard himself asked the matronly cook in desperation. "Can we see the baby? Please?"_

_Mrs. Potts took an age to respond. She didn't understand. She'd been helping deliver babies for decades, and all of them had come out alive and healthy. What could she have done to let this happen? And to Belle and the master's firstborn child, no less!_

_"Mama," Emma said, touching her mother's arm tenderly, "please, let the master and mistress see the baby. We don't know. This might be all the time they have."_

_Her daughter's words brought Mrs. Potts back to senses. She nodded mechanically as she picked up the bundle and turned to the prince. "I'm so sorry, master," she said with tears in her eyes. Then, she handed him the tiny body that should have been his child._

_It was a boy. His face was chubby and squishy-looking, and he had a tuft of mousy brown hair on his head. His skin was pale, his eyes closed and his mouth was hanging open. He was so tiny, he didn't even match half the length of Adam's arm. This stunned the prince. He knew that newborn babies were small, but he never imagined that they could be_ this _small._

_"Adam?" Belle called from across the room. "Can I see him? Please?"_

_Adam didn't respond. He couldn't. He was frozen in place, staring at his lifeless child, mind screaming in anguish._ NO! This is wrong! It's not fair!  _Images flashed through his mind, images of Belle, reading books about parenting in the library, so eager to do everything right; making lists of stories she would read him when he was older; sharing her plans for his future, all her daydreams..._

_And now those dreams would be nothing but ashes and dust._

_"Please," he whispered brokenly. "Please wake up..."_

_But the boy didn't wake. He'd never open his eyes. He'd never meet the parents who'd been waiting for him for over six months._

_And that hurt. It hurt Adam worse than how he felt the day he'd been cursed, or the day he thought he would never see Belle again. He'd rather take Gaston's stab wound a thousand times over than live with this agony._

I won't lose you! _he resolved furiously._ Not now! Not like this!

_In one swift movement, he placed the baby back on the dresser and unfolded his blanket. He remembered that Belle had made him read a book on experimental medical practices once, including a section on how to resuscitate an infant. At the time, he'd thought the methods sounded a little eccentric, but now he was determined to put everything he'd learned from them into practice._

_He pinched the baby's nose and blew two quick breaths into his mouth. He then pushed down on the baby's chest with his index and middle fingers._ One, two, three, four, five, six...

_By the time he'd reached thirty compressions, he feared he was already too late. But then, he heard a small cough come the baby. A cough so small, he almost thought he'd imagined it._

_Suddenly, the baby's charcoal-grey eyes opened. He looked momentarily stunned, as though he couldn't understand what had just happened. Then, he widened his mouth and started to cry, flailing his limbs out, letting the whole world know he was alive and kicking. Adam's body went numb with disbelief._

_"Master, you did it!" Emma said from behind him. "You saved the baby!"_

I did?

_He couldn't remember much of what happened after, so overcome with the shock of it all. It was only after he noticed Babette, Mrs. Potts and Emma standing behind him that he remembered that Belle was still waiting. He wrapped the baby back in his blanket and brought him to her._

_"It's a boy," he told her as he held the baby out for her to see._

_Belle smiled tearfully and clamped two fingers around her son's hand. "He's so beautiful, Adam. It's a miracle."_

_Just then, Lumière and Cogsworth peered their heads into the bedchamber, unable to contain their suspense any longer._

_"Let everyone in the castle know," Mrs. Potts announced to them proudly. "The master and mistress have a son!"_

* * *

_It was an hour before the royal household finally cleared out, leaving Belle and Adam to admire their newborn son alone for the first time. Words eluded the joy they felt, knowing that their child had survived near-impossible circumstances. Instead, they were content to pass him to each other like a book that neither of them could stop reading._

_"It's a good look for you," Belle said to Adam fondly after they'd done this several times. It hadn't taken long for her sanity to return after Adam had revived their son, and now she was back to her normal, good-spirited self. "The protective father face. I like it."_

_"Huh?" Adam looked up at her with a start._

_"You were deep in thought again," she said, smiling at him intuitively._

_"Oh. Sorry."_

_"Don't apologize! What were you thinking about?"_

_He hesitated to answer. "My father."_

_Belle frowned. By now, she had come to associate Adam's father with unhappy childhood memories, because they were all her husband talked about when he mentioned him. "Bad?" she asked, even though she already anticipated the response._

_He nodded. "He wasn't even here, the day I was born. Forte told me once. He left shortly after my mother went into labour because he had some 'important business to attend to.' Incroyable. The most important day of my existence, and some stupid meeting was more important to him than me. He was such a –"_

_"Adam!" Belle exclaimed. "The baby can hear you!"_

_"Sorry." Adam blushed as he looked back at their son. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm not going to treat our son the same way my father treated me. I'm not going to hand him over to some nurse or governess until he's old enough to learn how to manage his inheritance. We'll be the only ones responsible for raising him. He'll grow up in the best company possible. There won't be a day that goes by that he won't know what it's like to be cared for and loved. That's my promise to him."_

_"And you said you couldn't be a good father," Belle said looking at Adam proudly. "Just listen to yourself."_

_"I know what it's like to grow up feeling unwanted," he replied seriously. "I won't let him grow into the same person I was. If I do, then I'll have failed him completely as his father."_

* * *

Adam still remembered that promise. For over three years, he'd stuck to it like a monk stuck to scripture. But now, that promise was slowly coming undone. Maybe he'd found a way for Julien to escape the revolution, but at what cost? The boy would be living in a meagre boarding house in a foreign country, with no real promise of safety, or a future. With nothing to do but lie low and wait for the day he could go back to France.  _It's not fair!_

Julien deserved so much more than that. He deserved to grow up in safety and comfort, not as a lowly refugee hiding from prosecution – or worse – death. Belle could say what she wanted, but Adam knew, in his heart, that he'd already failed them both by admitting that their only chance of escape was in London. He'd given them a chance to  _survive,_ not a chance to  _live._

Once upon a time, Adam swore that he'd shower Julien with all the love he'd never had as a child. That meant protecting him from all dangers that would come his way, and comforting him when he was sad or scared. But then the revolution had come, the tables had turned, and not in their favour. Adam's whole life had been a series of misfortunes, but where his family was concerned, he knew he had to put his foot down.

The monarchy was ending and the Templars were coming. If Adam couldn't defend his family with his wealth and aristocratic status anymore... then he would become someone who could.


	12. Rebirth

_30 May, 1792_

They left the maison at the crack of dawn when the streets were quiet and empty of its usual citizens. Everyone, including the master, the mistress, and their young son, was dressed in plain travellers' clothes that Belle and the servants had meticulously sewed and gathered for them over the week. As an extra precaution, the servants had also provided Belle a straw bonnet with a long brim to conceal her face when she reached Calais. Everyone was so well-disguised that Belle found it difficult to believe that they'd all been residents of a royal household a week ago. It saddened her in a way. Not because she was sorry to say goodbye to the tight corsets and hoop skirts she'd had to endure as a full-time princess. But because it was a sign to her that her time as the guest of a once-enchanted castle had truly come to an end.

Five years ago, before Belle's father had been imprisoned, and before Belle had met the Beast, she may have seen this journey to England as an adventure; an exciting opportunity, like the oppressed Hebrews reaching their promised land, or Christian reaching the Celestial City in _The Pilgrim's Progress._ If only she could reach into herself and find that naïve and idealistic girl she'd once been now. But in her heart, she knew that it was too late. Belle had changed too much in the past five years, experienced too much grief; to regress back to her more innocent self would be like trying on clothes she'd outgrown long ago. So instead, she walked to their destination like a mourner walking to a funeral. A sentiment that was not only felt by her, but by several members in her party.

At the outskirts of Orléans, where the first meeting point was, the group turned to each other to say their last goodbyes. Belle, Julien, Maurice, Mrs. Potts, Chip and Cogsworth would be taking Monsieur Montagne's carriage to Calais to board the next ship to England. The rest would be staying in France to find their families, or to disappear and sever all ties with their former lives. Including the Prince.

"This is where we say goodbye, little man," Adam began, ruffling the top of his son's head sadly.

Julien raised his lower lip into a pout. "Why you don't come?" he asked. Even though his parents had explained it to him several times already, he was still confused. Papa had always been there for him. He'd promised him that he would be! And now, he was breaking that promise?

"I need to take care of some things back in France," was his father's remorseful reply.

"But when you come back?"

"Just before your next birthday. It won't be that long."

 _"Three months. Maybe four at the most,"_ he'd said to Belle the first time he'd raised the subject. _"Just until it's safe for you and Julien to come back to France."_

"Julien," the Prince continued, "while I'm gone, there's something really important I need you to do."

"Whaddat?"

"Listen to your Maman, and do everything she tells you to do. And remember to always be on your very, very best behaviour. Do you think you can you do that for me?"

Julien wiped his nose and nodded. "Okay."

Adam smiled and kissed the top of his son's head. "I love you, _mon petit bonhomme."_

"Love you too, Papa," Julien echoed sadly. For once he didn't cry, even though it looked like he badly wanted to. Instead, he accepted Mrs. Potts's hand and went over to wait with her and Maurice.

Meanwhile, Adam turned to face Belle. He reached into his coat pocket and took out the insignia ring he'd brought back with him from Paris. "This was my father's," he explained. "Master Quemar gave it to me when he was showing me his old letters. I want you to have it."

Belle stared at the heirloom with wonder and amazement. "Adam, this is beautiful," she remarked. "But I can't take it."

"Please," he said dismissively. "It's not like I'll have any use for it where I'm going. You could pawn it for money if you're facing difficulties in England. It would make me feel better, at least, knowing I had something to give you. Will you please take it for me?"

Belle gazed into her husband's eyes. In them, she could see all the things they'd left unspoken since he'd first told her of his decision to stay in France. To say that things had been tense between them in the past six days would be an understatement. Belle wanted Adam to come to England with them. He was a father, and it was his responsibility to help her raise their son, France be damned. But Adam saw things differently. Yes, it was cruel of him to abandon his family. But that separation was nothing compared to the crime he'd be committing if he did go to England with them, doing nothing to restore his country and the lives that Gaston had ruthlessly taken away from them.

_"I've spent ten years of my life waiting around for things to happen, Belle. I'll be doing the same goddamn thing if I go to England and wait for this revolution to fix itself. I can't do that again. I need to act."_

In the end, both of them were too stubborn to come to an arrangement that would make them happy. So instead, they busied themselves with gathering supplies and keeping Julien entertained in the days leading up to the big trip.

But now, they were in their final moments together. And both had so many things to say, but no idea where to begin.

"All right," Belle said at last.

Adam pressed the ring into her hand. He stared at her longingly, as though wanting to put every detail of her face to memory. Then, he gently kissed her fingers, turned around and started walking in the opposite direction.

Her husband's abrupt departure made Belle feel as though she'd been sharply slapped in the face. Her throat burned as her vision blurred with tears.

"Adam!" she cried before she could restrain herself.

He turned around again, just in time for her to fling her arms around him in a bone-crushing hug. She wasted no time in pressing her lips to his, kissing him with a fervour that hearkened back to the early days of their marriage and stolen nights in the West Wing, when nothing had mattered except for their love. They stayed that way for what seemed a lifetime, before Belle finally pulled away.

"Come back to me," she whispered, so that only he could hear. "Promise."

"I will," he whispered back as he cupped her cheek. "I love you."

They kissed again, this time a quick smooch, because their son was watching, time was short and Monsieur Montagne's coach would soon be arriving. It was with deep regret that Belle finally broke from Adam's embrace so they could go their separate ways. She took Julien back from Mrs. Potts, silently praying that this wouldn't be the last time she'd be seeing her husband. Since the night Gaston had first invaded the castle, she'd always had this fear of losing him, a fear that sometimes manifested itself in her dreams. She'd never told Adam about these nightmares, only because she loved him too much to make him worry.

A minute passed before she finally braved herself to look back at the city. By then, Adam was already gone.

* * *

The next day, Adam returned to the chaotic disaster of a city that was Paris. It had taken him twenty-four hours to return to the capital, including one stop over in the town of Étampes for food and a place to rest for the night. Seeing the death and destruction in Paris's streets only increased his resolve that he'd made the right choice to stay behind. Even if he missed Belle and Julien terribly in the process. The whole time he was on the road, all he could think about was whether he'd made a mistake in leaving them, or if Gaston's men had tracked them down and captured them on the way to Calais. Belle had promised that she would write him a letter before they boarded their ship, but that wouldn't be for another two days at least. Anything could happen to her in that time. All Adam could do was pray that nothing would.

 _Relax,_ he tried to tell himself. _She's in good hands. She has the Assassins there to protect her, remember? You know that she's more than capable of taking care of herself._

He wished facts were enough to reassure him. But they weren't. The truth was, this was the first time he'd been officially away from Belle since he'd freed over five years ago. And no amount of faith or hope could take away the fact that he was her husband, and _should_ be there for her. It had only been a day, but he could already feel a huge hole in his heart where that responsibility should have been.

The desperate cries of a man startled Adam from his thoughts. He studied the crowd and followed the voice, until he found its source standing outside a closed down butcher shop. His gaze drifted from the helpless citizen the radicals were restraining, to the hooded man standing on the roof above them, waiting for the right moment to strike. Adam sighed in relief. He'd finally found what he was looking for.

* * *

The entrance to the Assassins' sanctuary was located in a tunnel beneath Pont Rouge on the Île de Saint-Louis. Guided by his Assassin escort, Adam entered a barred door under the bridge, passed through a series of elaborate series of tunnels, ending at an ornate set of wooden doors.

"Wait here, your majesty," the Assassin said to the Prince once they arrived at the entranceway. He stepped through the doorway, leaving Adam to wait for him for several minutes. Just when he was beginning to wonder if the recruit had forgotten about him, the doors opened again, and the Assassin beckoned him inside.

Once through the threshold, Adam was guided down a candle-lit corridor adorned with shining pillars, arches and tall, imposing bronze statues of who he assumed were Assassins from long ago. Dozens of questions ran through his mind as he observed his surroundings. He was no archeologist, but he had a feeling from examining the local decor that this place was very old – possibly older than Paris itself.

From the corridor, Adam entered a large, domed chamber whose opulence could rival that of the ballroom's back at the castle. An elaborate chandelier hung from the ceiling, while the walls were covered with diamond-shaped windows and oil paintings of various officials who Adam assumed had all worked for the Assassins at some point. The floor was made of striped marble, and the entire place, in addition to being quite cool, seemed to give off a faint smell of incense.

Adam was about to ask his guide who had constructed this incredible place, but before he could, he was ushered into another chamber which was just as large as the former, only darker and more cavernous. The recruit led him across the room, down a set of stairs, to a stone mural carved with various images of humans and animals. At the center of the mural, jutting a few feet out from the wall was a golden altarpiece in the shape of a hollow triangle, like the one Adam had seen on Arno and Master Quemar's robes. His eyes travelled from the ornate display, up to a balcony where three figures in white hooded robes stood. Adam immediately recognized the one in the middle as Master Quemar. The others were a middle-aged woman with a stern-looking face, and a dark-skinned man with a greying moustache.

"Prince Adam," Master Quemar said, looking at their guest in mild surprise. "I presumed you would be on your way to England with your family."

"That was the plan," Adam replied. "But… I changed my mind."

The old man raised his brows intriguingly. "I'm listening."

Adam took a deep breath. He was glad to finally unload the baggage he'd been keeping inside of him for the past week. "My home has been taken from me, along with all my possessions," he began, "My wife, son, father-in-law and closest servants have been forced into hiding from the radicals that nearly took their lives. All because of me. Because I didn't anticipate that this revolution would cause my own people to turn against me."

"The gift of foresight is not one easily possessed," the mentor noted. "Surely you cannot blame yourself for all that has happened?"

"Can I? For the first eleven years of my life, I was nothing but a spoiled and selfish prince," Adam explained. "I was too caught up in my own fancies to care for anyone but myself. Even after my wife had rescued me, I was still absorbed in my own happiness to think about my people's. I spent years celebrating my freedom, while my citizens starved to death. But, now I want to make things right." He knelt on the floor. "I wish to pledge myself to your Order, so that one day my family can return to France and live in peace. As will all the citizens whose lives have been torn apart by this horrible revolution."

"Your majesty, understand that our Order is not a gentlemen's club," the dark-skinned man said, eyeing the Prince judgmentally. "If you truly wish to join our ranks, you must abide by our rules, just the same as anyone else. We do not make exceptions for anyone, regardless of whether they are of common or noble descent."

"With all due respect, monsieur, I've spent a decade of my life living under someone else's rules," Adam replied firmly. "Only then, I didn't have a choice in whether I followed them or not. I think you can believe me when I say I know what I'm getting myself into."

The middle-aged woman turned to Master Quemar sharply. _"'Ana la 'athiq bih,"_ she said. _"Taelamun 'ann waldh. Madha law 'annah yukhattit lilttajassus elyna?"_

Adam, who had no idea what the woman was asking, could only watch in confusion as Master Quemar replied in the same tongue but a calmer voice, _"Lays hdha wahd. Waqal Arno li eanh. 'annah mukhtalif ean alakhr."_

They continued to converse like this for a moment before they finally and turned back to face the Prince.

"Very well, your majesty," Master Quemar declared. "If you truly wish to join our ranks, then you must indulge us with a small test of your abilities. Drink from the goblet over there."

He gestured to the triangular altarpiece. Adam hadn't noticed before, but the inside of it contained a stone goblet carved with strange-looking runes.

"What is that?" he asked the mentor.

"A part of your initiation test," the woman replied, crossing her arms judgmentally. "To see if you have the right… 'fortitude' to be in our Order."

Adam glowered at the woman's condescending tone. He never liked it when people talked down to him. But if a test was what he had to do to gain the Order's confidence, then so be it. He stepped forward and drank from the goblet.

_The first thing he noticed, once he had drained the cup, was that the altarpiece in front of him was gone. In its place was a doorway that glowed with a strange white light. He looked back up at the balcony, expecting the Assassins to offer an explanation, but they had mysteriously disappeared. Compelled by curiosity, he stepped through the archway and descended a narrow staircase, into an all-too-familiar corridor…_

_He was back at the castle. Only it was the castle as it looked when it was still enchanted. The entire hallway was engulfed in a great darkness that even the lit braziers hanging from the walls couldn't drive away. Faded, moth-eaten curtains blew in the wind, while the carpet beneath him was dusty and shredded, as though something massive had torn through it sometime ago._

_"Hello?" he called out to the darkness._

_A strong gust of wind came to his answer. It carried incoherent whispers that sent chills running down his spine. Growing more uneasy by the second, he decided to venture forward._

_He'd never been in this part of the castle before, he realized. Demon-like statues with glowing white eyes glared down at him in judgement as he passed through the corridor. His own attention was momentarily distracted by a portrait of a proud-looking noblewoman, carrying a baby in her arms. Her eyes were bright green, and her hair was the same shade of red as Adam's. Is that my mother? He wondered in bewilderment._

_The next painting showed the Prince as a child, looking out of a rain stained window. Unlike the first portrait, this one filled Adam with great sadness. He knew exactly what this painting was depicting. It was his eighth birthday, and he was waiting for his father to come home._

_The third painting was the hardest for the Prince to take in. It showed a dark silhouette of the Beast, burying his face in his paws as he stood by the enchanted rose. Next to the rose, painted in bright, metallic strokes was the magic mirror. The Prince gritted his teeth in rage as he studied the image. How many years had he wasted away in that room, waiting for his curse to end, without realizing that it had never existed, and that the enchantress had been tricking him all along?_

_A strong gust of wind broke Adam from his thoughts once again. It extinguished all the candles in the corridor, plunging him into total darkness. Then, the whispers, which before had been incomprehensible background noise, came rushing forward, sounding both terrible and deafening._

"Were you in love with her, Beast? Did you honestly think she'd want you, when she had someone like me?"

"You have the nerve to suggest that we're uncivilized? You're the one who's been sitting around on your throne all day, raising taxes and taking things that don't belong to you. Well Tom and I aren't taking it anymore. Now it's time for payback!"

"The only one holding us prisoner here is you. Well, I'm not giving up!"

"I should have known that you'd never be anything but a Beast."

"I don't like it here, Papa. I wanna go home."

"That was an awful thing to do. You're acting rude and foolish!"

"You have been deceived by your own cold heart. A curse upon your house and all within it. Until you have one to love you as you are... you shall remain forever… a beast."

"She'll never see me as anything… but a monster."

"I don't want to get to know him. I don't want anything to do with him!"

 _"No," the Prince groaned as he pressed his hands over his ears. The words were suffocating him, resurrecting old memories he'd long wanted to forget. Then, just when he thought he would be trapped in this purgatory forever, he caught sight of a blue light coming from a door at the end of the hallway._ An escape! _Desperately, he ran towards the exit, the wind trying to push him back into the void, but it was no use; he'd already reached the other side. Panting like a crazed madman, he slammed through the doors, into a bright white light._

_When the brightness subsided, Adam found himself standing in a snow-covered clearing in the Black Forest. Only he wasn't alone. The entire glade was littered with wolf carcasses, their furry hides stripped away to reveal their bones and half-eaten flesh. The sight made Adam sick to his stomach. There was only one predator who could dismember a wolf in such a horrific way. He knew, because he was standing in the clearing with him._

_The Beast stood with his back turned to Adam as he devoured his latest kill. For a second, Adam stood petrified, unsure of what to do. If he stepped forward, his fate would surely be the same as the wolves'. But if he didn't, the Beast would eventually sense his presence and kill him anyway. Eventually, he settled on sneaking around the creature, but the snow beneath him was too brittle, and crunched loudly as soon as he stepped forward…_

_Instantly, the Beast spun around. His gaze snapped onto the Prince, eyes filled with hunger as he bared his massive fangs at him. He discarded the wolf carcass, smacked the blood clean from his lips and stepped forward._

_And it was in that moment that Adam knew, as though it were written into his most basic primal instincts, that he had to kill him. He had to kill the Beast._

_The Beast took another step forward as did Adam. He removed the sword attached to his belt, not sure how he'd gained it, only that he had to use it._

_With a loud roar, the Beast swung one of his club-like arms towards Adam. But the Prince jumped out of the way just in time. The Beast attempted another blow, but once again, Adam dodged his attack and rolled out of the way. It was easy to anticipate his enemy's moves when he'd made all of them once before._

_Finally, as the Beast raised his paw to crush Adam flat, the Prince saw his opportunity. By lifting his arm, the Beast had left his upper torso completely exposed. As quickly as possible, he leaped forward and plunged his sword into the place where the Beast's heart should have been._

_The creature let out a deafening roar of agony. He attempted a few feeble swipes at the Prince, but he simply dug his sword deeper into the wound, until he ceased his struggles and collapsed onto the snow. The Beast convulsed and let out one last howl of pain, which echoed throughout the forest. Then, all was silent._

_Fatigued and out of breath, Adam dropped his sword and knelt next to the Beast. The monster's blue eyes, once filled with malice, now stared up at him lifelessly. They were so similar to his own eyes, the Prince almost felt as though he'd just killed a part of himself. Trembling, he extended his hand and closed the monster's eyes, bringing him to rest._

And then the Beast's body and the surrounding woods faded away. Adam found himself back in the Assassin sanctuary drenched in sweat. A light touch on his shoulder brought him back to his senses. In the time he'd been "fighting" the Beast, Master Quemar and the other Assassins had descended the balcony, and now stood in front of him.

"These are the words spoken by our ancestors," Master Quemar began. "The words that lay at the heart of our creed."

"Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent," said the woman.

"Hide in plain sight," said the man with the dark skin.

"And never compromise the brotherhood," Master Quemar concluded. "Let these tenets be branded upon your mind. Follow them, and be uplifted. Break them at your peril. Rise, Assassin."

Adam unsteadily rose to his feet. At the same time, a recruit appeared behind the three Assassins, holding what looked to be a leather gauntlet on a cushion. The dark-skinned man promptly took the equipment from the recruit and strapped it to Adam's arm.

"Louis-Emmanuel Adam D'Auvergnon is dead," Master Quemar announced. "He has been culled from this world, with his sins and failures turned to dust. Today he is reborn, a novice of the Assassin brotherhood."

Adam looked down at the gauntlet and saw that it had a blade attached to its underside, just like Arno's. He had officially been inducted into their Brotherhood now, and there was no going back.

* * *

In the dimly lit room, Gaston placed his weapons on the table and stood up straight, breaking out one of his winning smiles as he basked in the attention he was getting from his soon-to-be comrades.

"Do you swear to uphold the principles of our order and all for which we stand?" asked the cloaked man standing on the opposite end of the table.

"Of course!" Gaston replied buoyantly. His big voice reverberated across the room. A few Templars tilted their heads at him questionably, as though unaccustomed to hearing such bravado in such a reserved ceremony. Not one to make a bad first impression, Gaston cleared his throat and in a more dignified voice answered, "I mean… I do."

"And never to share our secrets nor divulge the true nature of our work?" the cloaked man continued.

"I do," he repeated.

"And to do so from now until death – whatever the cost?"

"I do."

"Then we welcome you into our fold, brother," the Grand Master finished. "You are now a Templar, harbinger of a new world. Together, with your charisma, expert marksmanship and brawniness, we will wash the world anew and ensure that all wayward minds find their proper place."

"Sounds good to me!" Gaston replied amicably.

"May the Father of Understanding guide us."

"May the Father of Understanding guide us," Gaston and the others in the room repeated.

Now that that he was a Templar, Gaston was going to make that pathetic excuse for a Prince pay for everything he'd done to him. Even if it was the last thing he ever did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to pretend to be an expert on Arabic (because I'm not), so if there are any fluent speakers out there who'd like to offer a proper translation of Master Quemar and Master Trenet's conversation before Adam's initiation, feel free to send me a message. In English, their dialogue is:
> 
> "I don't trust him. You know who his father was. What if he's here to spy on us?"
> 
> "Not this one. Arno told me of his deeds back in the village. He's different from the others."
> 
> Also, please note that it will take a while for me to get up the next chapter, as I'm planning to go back and make some edits to this first chunk of the story before I move to the next one. Sorry for the inconvenience!


	13. Open for Business

_2 June, 1792_

The ocean was wide and endless. Belle could stare at it for ages and still, all she could see was the water, stretching out to the far recesses of the horizon, a crossway between the past and future. With every passing second, the ship brought her further away from home. And it also brought her further away from _him._

She'd kept Julien busy in the three days' journey to Calais by reading over books with him on how to speak English. It was a difficult language to learn, with unusual sounding vowels, diphthongs and some letters that looked like they were pronounced the same way in French, but were pronounced quite differently. Consonants like "h" and "s," which were both silent in French were both spoken aloud in English. English speakers also had a unique way of speaking at the front of their mouths instead of the back, making it next to impossible for Belle to pronounce digraphs like "th" which always came out sounding like a "z," as hard as she tried.

Even the grammar and tenses used in English were different from their French counterparts. Belle wasn't sure she would ever learn how to differentiate between first and third person verb tenses, or master all the -ing forms in the English gerund and the past participle, even with Mrs. Potts's and Cogsworth's encouragement that everything would come to her with practice.

The only thing that made learning English slightly more bearable for her was watching Julien laugh over some of the funnier-sounding words in their grammar books, or the way he'd enthusiastically ask Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts how to say a specific word in English. It had only been a few days, but she already noticed that he was picking up the language much quicker than she was.

Presently, Julien was wrapped tightly in Belle's arms at the edge of the ship, awestruck by the sight of the ocean, which he'd described to her earlier as "a big moving blankie." Lord only knew how much Belle loved him. But it was because she loved him so much that she worried. How on earth was she was going to raise him alone and look after her father at the same time?

* * *

They arrived on the shores of Dover less than three hours later. It was a beautiful coastal city, with big white cliffs that overlooked the sea, glowing like pearls in the afternoon sun. Belle remembered that a part of Shakespeare's _King Lear_ had taken place in this city, and tried imagining the cast standing on the cliffs, Lear growing mad with guilt as his daughter Cordelia nursed him back to health. For her family's sake, she hoped that their stay in England would end on much happier terms.

From Dover, the party took a ten-hour carriage ride to London, stopping in the towns of Willesborough, Maidstone and Dartford to stretch their legs and get something to eat. Cogsworth, who'd been aching to tell Belle and Julien everything about his homeland since they'd left France, passed the time by recounting fascinating war stories and folktales behind the towns and landmarks they passed. For every notable landscape she saw, Belle jotted her own observations in her journal, hoping to share them with Adam in a letter later.

It was nearly midnight by the time they reached London. The city had many similarities to Paris, but at the same time, many differences. Although it had several beautiful and prestigious buildings, it lacked the shine and splendour of its French equivalent, a fact that Belle noted with a small amount of disappointment. She supposed that Lumière had been right in saying that no city in the world could compare to Paris's beauty. In addition to its subpar appearance, the city's locals spoke English instead of French—and not just _any_ English, but Cockney English. Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth explained that like France, England was full of different dialects, each with their own set of colloquialisms. Belle's quest to master the English language was becoming more complicated by the second.

They passed over the River Thames, on which Belle could see the silhouettes of passing boats gliding over the dark waters. From there, they travelled into central London, where Cogsworth pointed out the Queen's House, a former palace King George III had remodelled for his wife, Queen Charlotte. As Belle took in the building's massive size and beautiful Renaissance architecture, she wondered what the King and Queen's stance on the revolution was, or if they would be willing to aid the people of France.

At long last, the carriage arrived at their destination. Belle stepped outside with Julien onto a cobbled road which led to a tall, three-story house made of grey brick. Ivy vines covered much of the exterior walls, giving Belle a feel for the house's old age and history. Cogsworth's family had clearly been in the hospitality business for a long time.

At first, Belle worried that they would disturb their hosts as they made their way up the front steps, but as luck would have it, the lamp was still lit above the entrance, indicating that someone was still awake. Sure enough, Cogsworth knocked on the door, and less than a minute later, a middle-aged woman in a white nightgown came to answer him. Cogsworth's sister was every bit as plump as her brother, but she carried none of his decorum or uptightness. Her flyaway auburn hair was tucked into a white nightcap, and she had rosy cheeks and laugh lines on her face that conveyed a sense of joviality and livelihood rather than stress.

"Benjamin!" she exclaimed excitedly upon recognizing her younger brother. "Goodness me, is that really you?"

"Henrietta!" Cogsworth replied with a smile. "So delighted to see you again, dear sister!"

They quickly embraced one another, then proceeded to converse in rapid English that was far too fast for Belle to understand. Even so, she didn't need a translator to see the utter joy on Cogsworth's face as he reunited with his last blood relative. She couldn't imagine how difficult it was for him to part with his family to work in France for over two decades.

Eventually, the siblings ended their conversation and Cogsworth introduced Henrietta to Mrs. Potts, Chip, Belle, Julien, and Maurice. She shook hands with all of them and briefly explained their living accommodations while Cogsworth translated. Belle was to receive two bedrooms; one for her and her Julien, and one for her father. Meals were all-inclusive and included tea time which took place at six o'clock in the afternoon.

After introductions were over, Henrietta led them through the front door, into a spacious foyer decorated with a small chandelier and an exotic-looking rug. Belle briefly met Henrietta's husband, David, a kindly-looking man with curly salt and pepper hair by the staircase, before Henrietta escorted them up to their rooms for the night.

Belle's and Julien's chamber was a plainly furnished living space that comprised of a simple bed, a bedside table, a wardrobe, and a chair and desk set that looked like it had seen better days. The room was nowhere near as big or lavish as the bedchamber Belle had slept in back at the castle, but it was still a sight better than the small room she'd lived in back in Villeneuve. That was good enough for her.

She crossed the room and helped Julien change into his nightgown before tucking him under the sheets of their new bed. He stretched and yawned as he looked up at her. "We stay here, Maman?" he asked.

"Yes, Julien," she replied. "This is our home now."

 _Home._ When Belle had traded her freedom for her father's six years ago, she could hardly believe that she would see the castle as anything more than a prison. She'd mourned for what had seemed ages for her lost freedom, completely oblivious to the new adventures and friends that awaited her. Just like that time, she would try to gather her courage and find some good in this strange new place, for her and her son.

* * *

Although Henrietta was a lovely host and cook, Belle felt guilty to be living under her roof as a charity case, with no way of paying for her accommodations. So once Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts had deemed her English passable enough to communicate with the locals, she went out to the streets to seek employment. Her first attempts at trying to secure a role as a governess were in vain. Many upper-class families sent their children to boarding schools in London rather than hire tutors to teach them. Even if they were interested in hiring a governess, they wouldn't take one who couldn't speak English fluently. So Belle sought out trade-related jobs instead. She inquired in shops and wealthy homes about becoming a seamstress, a chambermaid, a potter even. But no one wanted to hire her. Besides her lack of English proficiency, many employers saw her status as a French refugee as an ill-omen that would damage their businesses. The only likely place that would accept her was the brothel, but as a married woman of virtue, Belle would never let herself sink herself that low.

On a Friday evening in July, Belle returned to the boarding house after another discouraging day of job hunting, only to hear a knock on her apartment door.

"Madame Marchand?" said Henrietta, remembering to call Belle by the handle her family had been using since they'd settled in London. "There's a Miss Buxton here to see you."

"It's who?" Belle replied in English curiously.

"A Miss Buxton," Henrietta repeated. "She says that she's part of your husband's business?"

 _What could she want?_ Belle wondered. _Has something happened to Adam?_

She opened the door and allowed Henrietta to admit her mysterious visitor into the room. Miss Buxton was a young woman with black, curly hair tucked into a neat bun, thin arched eyebrows and blue eyes framed by a pair of dark, long eyelashes. Unlike the other Assassins Belle had seen previously, Miss Buxton wore not a robe, but a stylish-looking dress with a lacy bodice. If not for the triangular insignia and leather pouches attached to her belt, she might have passed for an ordinary London citizen rather than an Assassin.

"Good day _,_ Madame Marchand—or should I say, Your Highness," Ms. Buxton said with a small curtsey. "Miss Matilda Buxton, at your service. I'm part of the Assassin guild here in London."

"Glad to meet you, Miss Buxton," Belle said, trying to articulate her English as clearly as possible. "To which do I owe the pleasure?"

"I've come to see how you're enjoying your stay here in London," Matilda explained. "From what I understand it, you've been trying to find work."

"It is true," Belle admitted, wondering exactly how Matilda had acquired this information. "But so far, it is being very difficult. Most people refuse to hire me because I am French. It is very…" she struggled to find the right word in English... _"...unjust."_

Matilda nodded at the princess, understanding her plight. "Tell me Your Highness," she said. "Do you like to read?"

"But yes. I like a lot to read."

She smiled. "I assumed as much from what my sources told me. So tell me then, how would you feel about working for the Assassins?"

"Me?" Belle widened her eyes in surprise. "Become an Assassin? But how? I cannot fight or kill anyone."

"Nor would you have to," Matilda clarified. "To cut to the chase, Your Highness, the Assassins have fallen on some bad times here in London. The Templars have had the upper hand over the city for decades, forcing us to take our own operations underground or into the countryside. But as luck would have it, we were recently able to gain ownership of some abandoned buildings in London's Southwark borough. We were hoping to turn them into shops where we could sell goods to people and rebuild our influence in the city. But to do so, we need to find tenants willing to run them, first. So, what I'm asking you is: would be interested in working for us… as a book merchant?"

Belle looked at Matilda suspiciously. "I was thinking you Assassins fought against control," she noted. "So then why do you wish that I help you 'rebuild your influence in the city?"

"I see there's no hiding secrets from you, is there?" The Assassin smiled knowingly. "To answer your question, Your Highness, it's not that we want to _control_ the city. But we're not exactly happy with the way the Templars are running it either. And like all organizations out there, we need a certain amount of funds to stay operational, which is what we hope to gain by opening these stores to the public. Most of the income you'd be making would go to yourself and your family. But a small amount—say around ten percent a month—would go to our own causes, like buying new weapons and other resources to weaken the Templars. So really, it's a win-win situation for everyone. You get to provide for your family, and we get one step closer to knocking the Templars off their high horse so the city will be free for the people again."

Belle pondered over Matilda's proposal. She couldn't deny that she made a compelling argument. Having her own shop would allow her to be close to Julien and Maurice during the day, plus she wouldn't have to worry about paying rent since she could live in the same place she worked. That, and she would be selling one her favourite things in the world to people—books! It seemed like a wonderful way to take control of something for once in her life, considering that Englishwomen could operate their own businesses, unlike women in France. And she'd be helping the Assassins take down the Templars, too! It really was a win-win situation.

"When can I start, mademoiselle?" she asked Matilda.

* * *

The work on Belle's new bookshop began one week later. Upon arriving at the address, she was shocked to see that the place was a complete dive. The windows were all boarded up and shattered, the roof was deteriorating and a great deal of paint was missing from the front door and window sills. It was a building that clearly read to passerby as a place to keep away from.

But with the money they had collected, the Assassins sent carpenters to restore the building's roof and exterior straight away. Meanwhile, Belle, Maurice, Julien and even Mrs. Potts and Chip passed the time by clearing out all the debris and garbage from the main floor, until it resembled something of the old shop it used to be. After that, Belle and Maurice planned where they would set up the shelves and furniture once the carpenters had finished rebuilding the upper floors. It was fun for Belle in a way, designing the layout for her first ever English home.

Once the carpenters had moved all the shelves into the main floor, Belle divided her shop into different sections, based on how she would categorize her books. There would be a section for the Humanities, for the sciences, for classic literature, for politics, geography, for almanacs, for the Bible and other important sermons...

"What about for kids?" Julien had asked curiously.

"That's a great idea, Julien!" She gladly made another section in the store for children, filling it up with all the books she'd loved to read as a little girl, along with some recommendations from Chip and her son. By the end of the summer, Belle was excited to finally move her family into their new home and open her shop to the public. An excitement that was only marred by the news that King Louis and his family had been arrested by the National Assembly in their ongoing efforts to turn France into a monarch-free republic. The news had sent chills down Belle's spine when she'd seen it in the local newspaper, making her even more relieved that she and Julien had left the country when they still could.

* * *

The night before Belle's shop was scheduled to open, she was roused from her sleep by her son, who was standing in her doorway with a troubled expression on his face.

"Julien?" she said, turning on the oil lamp on her bedside table. "What is it, sweetie?"

He bit his lip nervously as he entered the room. "Can I sleep with you, Maman?"

"Of course." She made a space for him in her bed. "Is everything alright? Do you want me to go downstairs and get you something to drink?"

He shook his head as he climbed up the mattress. "I miss Papa," he confessed.

Belle's expression immediately softened. Regretfully, she and Julien had talked very little about Adam since they'd settled in London. Not only because his memory was too painful for Belle to bring up, but because the nature of his work was too dark to explain to a four-year-old. As far as Julien knew, Adam had stayed behind to "help" France, though he didn't understand why or how. Belle held her son close to her and sighed. "I miss him too, Julien," she replied.

She glanced over to her bedside table where she had hidden the insignia ring Adam had given her before he'd left for Paris. She'd written a letter to him earlier that week, telling him about London and her excitement at opening her new store. Now she waited anxiously to get a letter back from him. They'd been apart for three months now. Even with her new job, she was still anticipating the day when he would come back into their lives and they could be a normal family again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to add an extra scene in this chapter, but my motivation to write it was at zero, so eventually I thought it was better just to post it as is and add the missing part later. Thanks again for dealing with my slower than a snail updates ;)


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